Mare Tempestatum
by Hakajin
Summary: Misty is an orphan taking in by a kind queen. However, the queen soon dies giving birth. Misty grows up hating the child, the prince, Ash. How will these two find their places in an uncaring world? Pokeshipping.
1. Prologue: The Storm Brews

**Prologue: The Storm Brews**

The sea lapped the shore tentatively. Its waves made no sound. The wind was still. All was silent, as if the earth were waiting, watching, for something unknown. A castle loomed on the horizon, large and dark in the faint morning light. It was rectangular in shape, made almost entirely of gray stone, with four spires reaching toward heaven. A wall surrounded it on three sides, the fourth guarded by sea's natural barrier. A cold mist hung over the castle. A woman moved through it. She walked slowly through the garden, uncaring of her surroundings. This was Catherine, queen over all of Kanto, and lady of the castle. She was tall and slender, and moved with the grace of a dancer. She wore a simple brown frock, dress unfitting for a queen, but her beauty shone through her shabby clothes. Long dark hair framed her pale face. Her expression was pensive, but she did not cry. Catherine was much too dignified for that. Besides, it would be much too unladylike. Ladies did not cry, no matter how heavy their burden. And her burden _was_ heavy, for today was her thirty-fifth birthday, and she had not yet borne a son to her husband. Her doctors were beginning to fear that she was barren, and the her husband had no legitimate heir. King Ashton's only child was Philip, the bastard son of a courtesan, the result of an affair that was a disgrace to his father's name. Catherine remembered his birth well. Her attendants had been livid over the wrong done to her. Catherine herself, however, was surprisingly calm about the matter. She loved her husband dearly, but he was thirty years her senior, more of a father figure than a lover. Besides, it had been a short affair, borne out of passion, not love. Ashton had been deeply sorry, and Catherine had forgiven him at once. Unfortunately, the rest of Kanto was not so understanding. It was not that the people faulted their king on his misdeed. Quite the contrary, they relished in it. Commoners were always fond of a scandal. But this was an unwanted fame. It wouldn't have been so terrible if Ashton had other children. But if Catherine could produce no heir, then it would be Philip who succeeded to the throne. An illegitimate king would be a taint on the family and an embarrassment to the kingdom. Catherine was saddened that she could not restore honor to her beloved husband. Ashton did not blame her, she knew, but she wanted to repay his kindness. He had always been so good to her.

She thought of the day she had first arrived in Kanto. How frightened she had been! Catherine had been only sixteen, a child, when she was forced to leave behind her family's castle in Johto. The journey was long and the sea vast, and Catherine sensed that she was very far from her native land. Everything she had ever known was a world away. Her familiar home no longer existed for her. She could never return her room, or her father's library, or the summer rose garden covered in buds. She would never see her mother, or her father, or her younger sister, Elizabeth again. Catherine had never been so afraid or so felt so alone. She had nothing to comfort her but her memories of home, and these only made her miss it more. The only friend she had was her nurse, Anna. Everyone in Kanto was foreign, even the man who would soon become her husband. Catherine worried over him more than anything else. This was the man with whom she would spend the rest of her days, whom she was supposed to love and obey above all others. But what if she couldn't? What if he were ugly or cruel? Catherine feared a marriage of strangers. She spent her wedding day with a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat. But her fears were soon put to rest. Ashton had been kind and understanding beyond her expectations. He did not rush her, but gave her all the time she needed to adapt to her new life. He let her be alone whenever she wanted. Catherine was sure that he would have slept on the floor of their marriage chamber had she asked, if only to make her more comfortable. Ashton showered his bride with gifts and soft words. He even changed some of his own customs to suit those of her old home. Everything was done to ensure her happiness. Ashton was so gentle and so devoted to Catherine that she began to forget her worries. She came to love him, for he had made her very happy indeed.

Catherine, in return, wanted to bring happiness to her husband, and this was why she longed to be a mother. At least, this was what she told herself. But it was not the true reason for her wish. She of course would have been glad to give a child to Ashton, but it was not so important as she pretended. Her husband's dishonor was not the cause of her unhappiness. The heart of her desire lay deeper. Her yearning was the one that burns in all women: she wanted a love that was complete and unconditional, the kind of love only be experienced by a mother for her child. When Philip was born, Catherine had watched his mother with sad eyes. She saw herself caring for a little one of her own: feeding him, cleaning him, singing him to sleep. Catherine hoped that it would someday become more than a dream. But with each passing year, her hopes faded a little more. All that was left of them was grief. Catherine would never truly be happy if she remained childless. Without a knowing that love, she would always feel empty. Nothing else could complete her.

Catherine was reflecting on these things when she heard a small cry. It was a soft cry, a whimper. She moved toward the sound, pushing away dry stalks and crunching over brittle plants as she walked. The sound was growing louder as she neared its source; Catherine followed it until she arrived at the azalea bushes. Oddly, they were flowering, despite the cold winter air. She carefully pulled back their branches, and found a wonderful sight. There, crouching to the earth, was a small girl of about a year. She had red, flame colored, and eyes as blue as the sea. She was quite lovely, despite her dirty face and ragged clothing. Catherine thought that she had never seen such an enchanting child.

"Hello there," she cooed, extending her hand to the girl, "what's your name?"

The frightened child backed away from Catherine's extended hand and curled herself into a ball.

Catherine drew back.

"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you."

Slowly, the child looked up. She was afraid, but her curiosity was starting to take hold.

"It's all right." Catherine repeated. "You can come out."

The girl rose and took a hesitant step, and then another, until finally she met Catherine in the open garden air. Catherine gently patted her head.

"You see? Nothing to fear." She said quietly. "But where did you come from? Is your mother nearby?"

Then Catherine scooped the girl into her arms and strode toward the edge of the garden.

"Hello?" She called. "Is anyone there?"

But there was no answer. Catherine could not imagine how a small child could have gotten to such a remote place on her own. The girl must have been an orphan. Catherine could not leave her to fend for herself. She knew immediately that she must raise this child. Strangely, she did not find it a burden, but welcomed the idea. She felt sure that the gods had answered her prayers. All of a sudden, Catherine's pain was eased. This girl was the answer to her troubles. This was the child for whom she had longed. A gift from the sea. She would not help Ashton, but that mattered little to Catherine now. She had found her own joy at last. It hadn't come in the way she had imagined, but she would love this girl as her own..

Carrying the girl, she turned and walked inside the castle door, her steps hasty with resolve. She walked down the stone hallway until she came to the kitchen. It was cluttered, with pots and pans strewn all over the counters, but it was full of wonderful fragrances and warmth. Several cooks hurried around the room as they prepared the afternoon meal. Catherine strode toward a rather large woman who was busy cutting vegetables.

"Anna!" She called.

The woman turned around and quickly met Catherine.

"Lady Catherine, where have you been?" Anna fretted.

"I was only out for a stroll in the garden."

"You should have told me, I could have escorted you!"

"I'm not a child anymore, Anna." Catherine laughed. "I am able to take care of myself."

"But look at what you're wearing, you'll catch your death of a cold going out dressed like that."

Catherine smiled affectionately at her old nurse. Anna had raised her since infancy. Catherine was grown now, and Anna a rotund old woman, but she held fast to her motherly tendencies.

"I'll be more careful next time." Catherine conceded.

"And where did you get that misbegotten child?"

"I found her in the garden." Catherine said, stroking the girl's hair. "She must have been abandoned. I saw no one else."

"But what do you plan to do with her, my lady?"

"I am going to keep her here and raise her as my own."

"Oh, his majesty will never allow it!" Exclaimed Anna.

Catherine simply smiled. She knew her husband all too well. She would have her way. The matter was already decided.

"We will see about that." She said slyly. "I am going to seek an audience with the king. I will need to dress properly."

Anna shook her head as she led the way down the hall and up the stairs to Catherine's room. Once there, she helped her lady change out of her simple frock and into the dress she had chosen. It was Catherine's favorite, and she knew it would please her husband. It was hunter green and swept gracefully to the floor. A low neckline showed off her bust, and long sleeves revealed her shoulders. Catherine stood in front of her large wall mirror and inspected herself. She then sat at her dresser, oak and carved with intricate designs, and pulled a gold necklace set with large emeralds from its drawer. She put it on and, standing, looked into the dresser mirror.

"There, how do I look?" Asked Catherine.

"You look splendid, my lady."

Catherine smiled with satisfaction as she gazed into her reflection in the mirror one last time. Then she turned to the child. She was dirty and scrawny, and certainly not fit to be presented before a king. Catherine lifted her from her seat on the canopy bed and set her on the dresser stool.

"Anna, bring me some water and a cloth, please." Requested Catherine.

Anna left the room for a moment and returned with a porcelain basin filled with water and a wet rag, and helped Catherine bathe the girl's dirty face. The child protested and squirmed, but she could not escape Catherine's grasp. When the bath was through, Catherine brushed the girl's fine but bedraggled red hair. This was even worse than the bath, and the girl cried out in pain, but Catherine ignored her and finished the task. The child was still scrawny, and her clothes were in tatters, but she looked at least a little more presentable than she had when she arrived.

"I think that's the best we can do." Sighed Anna.

"Then we are ready." Catherine announced. "Wish me luck."

* * *

Catherine threw open the huge doors of the throne room. It was a grand sight; no matter how many times she entered, it always impressed her. The room was large and open. It stretched for yards and yards in all directions. The white marble floor was spotless, and covered down the middle with a long, narrow red carpet. The ceiling arched high above, supported by Romanesque columns lining the walls, and painted with scenes of gods and goddesses. There were beautiful windows that almost met the ceiling standing beside the columns, glittering in the sunlight. They looked over the sea, now shining in the sun. At the far end of the room, seated in his throne, was the King, Ashton Reginald Kanto VI. He was an imposing figure, and strongly built. He had chestnut brown hair and a thin beard, and brown eyes. He wore robes of purple, the color of royalty, and a crown of pure gold. Catherine waited for him to nod his approval and then stepped forward with determination. 

"What brings you here, my dear queen?" The king asked.

His booming voice commanded authority and fear, but Catherine was not intimidated at all.

"I have a request to make of you, my king."

"What is it, my dear?" His voice softened.

"This morning while I was in the garden, I found this girl. She is an orphan, and I wish to raise her here."

King Ashton gazed at the child thoughtfully, as if noticing her for the first time. She seemed to somehow understand the gravity of the situation, sat passively with her fist in her mouth. The only sound in the court was the waves pounding against the shore outside. After a long moment, the king spoke.

"But look, she is so thin, and so dirty, she is obviously a peasant. If you want to save her, give her to one of the servants to look after, but she does not belong with you, who are of noble blood."

Catherine was infuriated by her husband's callousness, but she could not show her anger here. She spoke slowly and courteously.

"What difference does it make? I am not suggesting that she someday take the throne. She is small, and if I raise her, she will learn to behave like nobility. It will not matter whence she came."

"But it is not your duty to raise the child of a peasant. You should not have to trouble yourself."

"Duty has nothing to do with it, I _want_ to raise her. I have no child of my own. Would you deny me the chance to have this girl, as well?"

"But, my queen . . . "

King Ashton looked at the thin child Catherine held tight in her arms. She looked so out of place in the magnificent palace, but perhaps, with time, she would grow to become a lovely young lady. Then the king looked into Catherine's eyes, and in them he saw the passion he loved so much. He had known from the beginning that he couldn't win. His advisors often warned him against indulging Catherine, but he loved her so much. He couldn't deny her anything her heart truly desired.

"If it is what you truly want," King Ashton said, "then I will let you keep the child." And then, to preserve his authority, "But be sure that she does not become a nuisance."

Catherine smiled. he had won, as she had known she would. At last, she was a mother.

* * *

Catherine named the girl Misty, for the mist whence she had come. Now that she was being properly cared for, Misty lost her scrawny appearance and grew into a strong, healthy child. Catherine spent every day taking care of her and playing with her. She fed and cleaned her, and had wonderful clothes of satins and silks tailored for her. Misty looked less like a pauper and more like a princess every day. She loved her adopted mother and forgot that her life had ever been any different. But Catherine could not forget. It was on the day she found Misty that Catherine first saw it. When she was changing Misty out of her rags and into a new dress, she noticed a leather thong encircling the child's neck and hanging beneath her top. Catherine uncovered it, and saw hanging from it a brilliant stone, translucent, and almost seeming to glow from within. It swirled with all the colors of the sea: dark blue and pale green and the white of the foam. She knew that it must have been given to Misty by her mother- her real mother. It was such a small thing, but it separated Misty from Catherine, a constant reminder of her foreign origin. Catherine was tempted to snatch the necklace away, but she couldn't bring herself to steal Misty's one connection to her past. Even if she had taken the pendant from the girl, she couldn't sever Misty's ties to her mother. Catherine felt distant from the girl, for no matter how well she played her part, she would never be Misty's true mother. Catherine had thought that it would not matter. She had been sure that she would love Misty as her own. And she did. But the more she loved her daughter, the more painful it was. She was an outsider, a stranger who had no ties to Misty except that she had been the one to find her. It was a lonely, sad feeling. Catherine tried to conceal these emotions from Misty, but there were times when they got the better of her. Sometimes she would be playing with Misty, and everything would seem right. Misty would smile at her so happily, and Catherine could almost forget that she wasn't her real mother. Then that accursed thing would slip from under the girl's clothes and shatter the illusion. It seemed to mock her. Misty sensed her mother's withdrawal, but she was too young to understand its reasons. It confused and hurt her when Catherine turned away, and she would cry. Catherine hated to cause the little girl pain, and so she learned to ignore her emotions. The tension between her and her child all but disappeared, and Misty was happy. But Catherine was still haunted by doubt. So it went for many months. 

Things might have continued this way forever if not for what happened next. It started subtly. Catherine became sick to her stomach often, sometimes even vomiting. At first, she thought it a passing illness, but the nausea persisted. Catherine felt seasick as she had on the rocking ship that had brought her to Kanto. Still, she ignored it. But then something happened, or rather, did not happen, that she could not ignore. ow there could be no doubt.

Catherine strolled down the beach holding Misty by the hand. The sun was sinking under a calm sea. Gentle waves splashed her feet with foam as they caressed the shore, then carried her footprints back out to the depths. She walked into the wind, her disheveled hair streaming behind her. Gulls circled above or dived into the sea to catch their supper. The scene was perfect, but Catherine didn't notice it. She had more important things to think about. A soft smile touched her lips, for the most wonderful thing in the world had happened- she had become with child. As soon as it was certain, a midwife was called, and she determined that Catherine would bear a son. Finally, she would give an heir to her husband. Never again would she see the disappointment in his eyes when, once again, she had failed to conceive. That was only a memory, now Catherine knew only joy. And pleasing her king wasn't even foremost in her mind. More than that, Catherine was overjoyed that she was going to have a child of her own flesh and blood. She didn't love Misty any less. Now that she was going to bear a child of her own, she found that her foster daughter's past no longer concerned her. Catherine was at last able to love Misty wholeheartedly, without any thought to her lineage. She would not love this new child any more or any less. As the child inside her grew, so did Catherine's anticipation. She became more excited every day, and shared her excitement with Misty. She spoke of the new baby to her daughter often, and let her feel the now restless child in her belly. Misty didn't understand what was happening, but she loved seeing her mother so jubilant. It was a happy time for everyone in the kingdom of Kanto. The people held their breaths as the time drew near for their new prince to be born.

And after much anxious waiting, that day came. Catherine laid in her silk sheets, attended by those dearest to her: Anna, King Ashton, and even Misty was allowed to stay. The midwife immediately set about mixing various concoctions to help ease the birth, and administered them to Catherine.

"Not much longer now." She said, inspecting the mother once more.

There was an air of excitement and joy in the room, but Misty, seeing her mother in such pain, was afraid. he hid behind Anna, clinging to her skirts. Finally, when Catherine was almost exhausted from pushing and straining, she delivered her baby son. Misty stared at the child with large eyes. He was such an ugly, red little thing, and his crying was so irritating. Yet when her mother took him in her arms, she looked at him as if he were the most beautiful child in the world. How could she love him after he had caused her so much anguish? Misty wondered this as she watched Catherine smile at the boy. Soon however, she was ushered out of the room and left in Anna's care, leaving only King Ashton with his wife. Misty would never see her mother again.

The fever came on fast, and Catherine, already weakened from her labor, was unable to endure it. She was gone within only a few days; the once joyous event had turned to tragedy. Catherine had been such a caring and vibrant person, loved by all who knew her. She had brought her loved ones so much joy, now equaled by heartache. King Ashton suffered worst of all. He was devastated at losing his beloved Catherine, and became cold and withdrawn in his pain. He could not bear to even look at the son who had caused her death. Anna grieved, but in silence. She had no time for tears. She poured all of her emotion into caring for the new child, trying to forget her sorrow. And Misty, though she did not understand death, wondered where her mother had gone and missed her terribly. A dark cloud hung over the castle, and all its inhabitants fell into depression.

Outside, the sea hurled huge, dark waves against the shore. The sky turned an ominous gray and blew fierce winds from the north. This storm tossed ships at sea about like toys, dragging many a sailor to doom beneath the waves. It roared on for many days and nights. When at last it lifted, the sea had risen all the way to the castle grounds. Although the destruction was great, everyone sighed in relief and thanked the gods that it was over. However, they rejoiced too soon, for it was only a reprieve. The storm was the first of many that would batter the coast in the years to come.


	2. Child of the Mists

**Chapter 1: Child of the Mists**

After Catherine's death, the seas became rough and wild, and lives were thrown into disorder. Misty came to occupy a peculiar place in the society of the castle. She was neither princess nor servant, and none were quite sure how she should be treated. Some were surprised that she was allowed to stay at all, but King Ashton didn't expel her. So Misty remained, given into Anna's care to be raised alongside the prince, Ashton. This was the beginning of many troubles. Anna, a kind woman, loved both children, but she doted on the young prince. Try as she might, she couldn't hide her preference. Sometimes Misty wanted to be held, but Anna was too busy feeding Ash to notice her, and sometimes Misty's cries went ignored while Anna lulled Ash to sleep. This left Misty confused and angry. She had no concept of bloodlines or wealth; to her, she and Ash seemed no different. Why should he receive the better treatment? Bitter jealously was planted in her heart. In her youth, Misty could not contain the violent emotion, and she would often strike Ash when Anna had turned away. But she was also to young to consider the consequence, and when Anna heard Ash's cries, Misty would be punished with a stinging slap to the face. She would be forced into obedience, and there would be peace. For a time. But even as she rubbed her sore cheek, Misty would seethe with anger at Ash for exposing her deed, and her desire for revenge would flare. Soon the struggle would begin anew. It made miserable all whom it trapped: Misty, caught inside a circle of jealousy and anger; Ash, weary of the abuse; and Anna, frustrated by the problem which she could clearly see but felt powerless to end. The spiral was of their own making, yet no one would move to end it. As tide followed tide in and out an endless ring, so the vicious cycle turned as the years rolled after.

Misty grew, but time changed little. One day, however, stood apart in Misty's mind. It was her seventh birthday. Things had started off cheerfully enough. Anna had baked a chocolate cake, Misty's favorite, and for once, Misty was the center of attention. She could not have imagined a more perfect day. But after the festivities ended, Anna had taken her aside and told her an awful story. It was of an orphan and the queen who adopted her, and the tragedy that befell them. Worst of all, it was true. Misty was shocked. As Anna spoke, she felt the blood rush from her head and the floor fall from beneath her. Her body tingled. In a panic, she had fled the castle and run through the garden and down the sloping landscape, and had at last thrown herself onto a sandy dune, sobbing. This was her place, the place she always visited when she was sad or needed to think. But then, she had not been able to think at all. Her mind was numb with shock. The reeds had blown in a cold breeze that day. Ominous thunderclouds filled the horizon. Thunder rumbled far away and blended with the sound of the choppy waves breaking on the shore. It had taken many days for the truth to become real. But eventually shock gave way to grief, and grief to acceptance, and Misty began to better understand her life. She now knew the reason that she and Ash were treated so differently. He was a prince, and she an orphan with no family or history or riches. She couldn't blame him for her situation. Nor for his mother's death, though she now knew the secret. Fortune and circumstance had determined their fates, nothing more. But this knowledge did nothing to change Misty's feelings toward Ash. She now realized that he wasn't the cause of her adversity, but she had found new reasons to dislike him. Ash had grown into a haughty, proud child, and Misty hated the way he boasted and whined. He trusted all the flattery that his position gained him and would repeat it to anyone who would listen. Misty couldn't _stand_ this arrogance. She had grown too old to hit Ash, but she found new weapons in words and sharp wit. He was always quick to take the bait, and they were forever arguing back and forth. Rare was the occasion when they were not at odds. They might tolerate each other as playmates if boredom became unbearable, but then with a fragile, awkward harmony. Misty considered Ash no friend of hers.

She didn't have _any_ friends for that matter. Ash was the only other child she knew. Still, she did not consider herself lonely. Misty spent her days fantasizing about a better life, and these fantasies were more than enough company. Nothing that real life had to offer could compare. How could it? Limited reality could never rival these grand fantasies. In her dreams, Misty had everything she had ever desired: fine clothes and glittering jewelry, dazzling parties and delicious food; things at once familiar and foreign. Her modest room with its stone walls and sparse furnishings became a suite befitting a princess. She danced on the beach to the song of gulls, a lady at a fancy ball. The life that she could only watch others live was hers. Misty reveled in these false luxuries. But, wonderful as they were, they were only silly fancies, a child's amusement. There was a dream much dearer to her heart. More than anything else, Misty wished for a loving mother. A mother who was kind and never scolded her, who gave her the best of everything. A mother who was warm and beautiful, with a gentle voice. A mother who was always there whenever Misty needed her. And though she was merely a shadow, her love was a refuge in trying times, a shelter from the hardship that surrounded Misty. She found great joy in the illusion. She didn't think there could be anything wrong with such a beautiful dream.

But not everyone agreed, as she soon found out. One day, when Misty sat on her bed, lost in a daydream, her thoughts were interrupted by a heavy sigh.

"What are you thinking about?"

She turned to find Anna staring at her, a concerned look on her face.

"Nothing." She said.

"Nothing? Come now, you must be thinking about _something_."

Misty shook her head. She couldn't tell Anna such private things.

"It's a beautiful day. Why don't you go outside and play in the garden?"

"No, I don't want to."

"Well, what would you like to do?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Misty, I must say I'm worried about you. How can you just sit there doing nothing? It's not _natura_l for a girl your age to be so withdrawn. You should be outside playing."

Anna's persistence was quickly becoming annoying.

"But this is what I want to do."

"Nonsense! It's not healthy. You can't be happy like that. We must do something to bring you out."

"But-"

"-I know! Ash is about to begin schooling, why don't you accompany him? It will do you good to be with the other children, and you'll enjoy the work."

Misty's temper was ignited.

"I told you, I don't want to!"

"Don't show such disrespect to your elders!" Anna chastised. "You will do as I say! Now, I shall have to gain permission from King Ashton, but he usually leaves decisions concerning you children to me, so it shouldn't be a problem . . ."

Misty glared at Anna as she walked away, still talking to herself. Who was _she_ to judge whether she was happy? But there was nothing she could do. Anna gained permission from the king, and that was that.

* * *

A cold sea churned up waves of green. Today was Misty's first day of school. She tied up her hair and wore her nicest dress of pale blue linen. But she didn't care about her appearance today. Misty felt nervous, even a bit sick. She did n't want to attend school. Anna was so excited for her, but Misty _knew_ she wouldn't like it. She would have no time for daydreams, and worse, would spend every day with _Ash_. There could be nothing good about it. But she was powerless to fight Anna's authority. So begrudgingly, Misty walked down the cold stone hallway, tailing Anna and Ash at a distance.

"Misty!" Anna called. "What's the matter? Pick up your feet!"

Misty hurried to obey Anna, and caught up to her and Ash just as they turned a corner. She found herself in a small room, no larger than a closet. It was bare as well, furnished with only a wooden table and four chairs. Here there sat a man. He had a thick white beard that covered his chin and was gray and wrinkled with age, but his blue eyes sparkled with youth. He looked up from his book as his new pupils entered and rose to greet them.

Hello," he said quietly, "my name is Mordecai, and I am your new tutor."

"My name's Ash!" Ash called excitedly.

Misty stepped forward a little, not wanting to be scolded again.

"And I'm Misty."

"I am very pleased to meet you. Tell me, how old are the two of you?"

"I'm five!" Yelled Ash, waving four fingers in front of his face.

Misty, not wanting to be outdone, interrupted.

"That's nothing, I'm already seven!"

Mordecai laughed a good-natured laugh at the two.

"I'm afraid I've got you both beat." He said. "I'm sixty-two."

Misty giggled. At least her tutor was kind. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad as she had thought.

"Well, I suppose I'd better be off now." Anna sighed. "Be good. And have fun."

Ash and Misty nodded to her as she left, but their attention was still focused on Mordecai as they wondered what plans he had for the day.

Ash, being five and curious, immediately set about exploring the tiny room. He grabbed a tablet from the table.

"What's this?" He asked.

Mordecai gently took it from him and set it back in its place.

"This is what you'll be using to practice your writing, but we can't get started just yet. I am waiting for my last student to arrive."

"I'm sorry I'm late. Breakfast was served late, and . . ."

Mordecai turned.

"Ah, Philip, you're here. Just in time."

He gestured toward Ash and Misty.

"I would like you to meet Ash and Misty. They will be joining our lessons starting today. Children, this is Philip. I have been tutoring him for several years already."

Misty studied the scowling boy standing before her. He stood a head taller than she, and was one or two years older. His clothes of fine blue silk touted his noble birth. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, though Misty knew that she had never met him. She had seen him once or twice before, in the castle, but only from a distance. She hadn't noticed anything remarkable about him those times. And Philip did not acknowledge Misty at all. He gave her not so much as a glance, but glowered at Ash. His gaze was full of contemp. He looked at Ash as though he were some dirty animal. Misty was puzzled. She wasn't overly fond of Ash herself, but he wasn't ugly or disfigured. And he had not yet spoken a single word. Why should Philip give him such a hateful look? But Ash was oblivious to Philip's hostility. Everyone was a friend to him, he knew no enemies.

"Hello," he was saying as he stepped nearer to Philip, "I'm . . ."

But Philip simply brushed past him as though he had not heard him at all. Ash drew back with a confused expression, and watched Philip take his seat. He was about to speak again when Mordecai ordered the children be seated, dissolving the awkward situation.

Mordecai then lifted a book from the table and handed it to Philip.

"Read the next twenty lines in book three." He told him.

Now he turned to Ash and Misty, giving them each a wax tablet and a stylus.

"For our first lesson," he said "we are going to begin learning to write."

Ash shifted his attention to Mordecai, and, for now at least, the confrontation was forgotten.

Mordecai picked up his own tablet and scratched a few marks into it.

Then, showing the writing to Ash and Misty, he said "This is the letter 'A'. It makes a sound like 'ah', or 'ay' or 'a'. Your name begins with 'A', Ash."

Ash smiled at the recognition, and Misty rolled her eyes.

"Now, I want both of you to write your own 'A's."

Misty didn't quite understand how lines on a tablet could make sound, but she did as she was told and carefully scratched them out on her tablet. She smiled at her work; it was a pretty letter, almost as good as Mordecai's.

"I'm done first!" Ash cried suddenly, making her jump.

Let me see." Mordecai said.

He looked at the scrawling on Ash's tablet and suppressed a laugh.

"That's a good start, but try to be more careful. It's not a race. How are you doing, Misty?" Misty, frowning, reluctantly held up her work. If Ash's was poor, then surely hers would garner no praise. "Excellent. Ash, look how straight Misty draws her lines. You would do well to imitate her style."

Misty froze. She didn't see Ash stick his tongue out at her, nor did she hear Philip's disgusted sigh. Such unexpected praise had stunned her. It was nothing more than a passing comment to Mordecai, but Misty didn't think she had ever heard such beautiful words. No one had ever, ever compared her favorably to Ash. He seemed to do _nothing_ wrong. But now, at last, she had found something that didn't depend on status or wealth. Finally, here was a chance to prove her worth. Misty knew that she could exceed Ash in this if she only tried. She promised herself that she would not fail.

* * *

So every day Misty went to school, and every night, she studied her lessons. In the beginning, it was tedious. Nothing but simple letters and numbers, easy to understand once she had grasped the basics. But soon Mordecai moved on to other subjects, history and mythology. She savored every story of brave generals and jealous gods, enthralled by their adventures. There was the earth goddess, Maia, mother of the human race and nourisher of all living things, and her brother Pelagia who ruled over the sea. Then there was Kantius, for whom Kanto was named, the king who had led his people such a great distance to found his beautiful country. These noble people were unlike anyone Misty had met in her own life. They were so real, so exciting, and Misty admired their beauty and passion.

School was no longer a chore, and Misty excelled in everything she was taught. Mordecai was delighted to see such enthusiasm in his young student, and encouraged her every effort. He often let her stay after the day's lesson to hear more tales, and loaned her picture books of her favorite legends. He always had a word of commendation for her hard work. It was refreshing for Mordecai to teach a student who was so interested in his lessons. Philip worked hard, but he was a vain child who seemed to study only to feed his own egotism. And Ash was steadily falling behind. Unlike Misty, he gave no care for his work and paid almost no attention in class. Misty took great satisfaction in surpassing him. She made it a point to gloat whenever she could, which was quite often. This caused more arguments between them, which only added fuel to Misty's fire.

On this particular day, they were fighting over yet another of Ash's wrong answers. Misty, benevolent as she was, had not hesitated to correct him. "Why does Misty always do better than me?" Ash was whimpering.

"Because I'm smarter than you!"

"Are not! Anna says that I'm gonna be king someday, so-"

"That doesn't mean anything! You're only-"

"_Enough_!" Mordecai thundered.

Ash and Misty immediately snapped to attention. "Ash, Misty performs better than you because she studies and takes interest in her work. You would do just as well as she if you would only take your lessons more seriously."

"And you," he said, silencing Misty's sniggering, "you could stand to be a little more humble. Remember, 'Pride goeth before a fall.'"

"But I-"

"No buts. It's going to get you into trouble someday if you're not careful."

Misty cringed as Ash had his turn to laugh. Even Philip, always absorbed in his studies, looked up to smirk.

"_This isn't fair!_" She thought. "_Ash is the prideful one, not _me_! I wouldn't _have_ to show off if he would quit bragging all the time!_"

She held her tongue for fear of rebuke, but inside, her spirit raged like the ocean of an approaching hurricane. Misty was accustomed to such slights, but this was different. She had been humiliated, here, the one place where she had respect, betrayed by her trusted mentor. Worse, any defense she might give would only bring more reprimands. It wasn't the least bit fair. But Misty determined that she would redeem herself. She would find a way. She would prove her worth to Mordecai, Ash, and anyone else who dared question her. She needed only to wait until the opportunity presented itself. And she did not have to wait long. Soon after, Mordecai announced that King Ashton would be visiting to check on the children's progress later that month. Misty recognized her chance at once. She eagerly anticipated the king's visit. She studied as she had never studied before and crammed every detail she could into her small head. It was hard, but she kept her eyes on the goal. The prize would be worth the difficult work. At last, the awaited day came. Misty sat up in her seat, confident that she would give a grand performance for the king. She watched him as she waited. He stood in the back of the room and carried himself with somber dignity. Even if he had been wearing rags, anyone would have recognized him as one of royal blood. Suddenly, he noticed Misty's gaze and turned her eyes toward her. But Misty would not be intimidated. She met the king's gaze strait on. Today, even he would wonder at her knowledge.

Now Mordecai was beginning, so Misty put her thoughts away for the time being.

"Hello children, I hope you have prepared well." He addressed them.

"Today we will show his majesty King Ashton what we have learnt so far. Your highness, I am sure you will be most pleased by your sons' progress. Let's begin, shall we? Ashton gets the first question. Ashton, what is the name of the king of the gods?"

"_Easy,"_ Misty thought, but Ash stumbled a bit.

" . . . Is it . . . Caelus?"

"Correct. Well done. Now Philip. Philip, what is the name of the hero who defeated Johto's army at the battle of Viridian?"

"Kantius III, of course."

Misty's turn was next. This was the moment for which she had prepared. She patiently awaited her question.

"Ash, another question for you."

"_What?"_

Misty suddenly realized that she had been skipped. Surely it was only a mistake.

"Mor-"

"What is three plus six?"

"Um . . ."

Misty was incensed. After she had worked so intently, would she now be denied her moment of glory? Her anger grew as she watched Ash clumsily counting his fingers. Finally, she could bide it no longer. Her chair clattered to the floor as she leapt from it.

"Nine, you idiot! The answer's nine! Don't you know anything?!"

"Misty!"

And then she was sprawled on the floor, and her head was throbbing and spinning, and a thundering voice was yelling "You insolent little wench! Who do you think you are to speak to _my_ son like that?!"

And a smaller voice was crying "Stop! Don't hit her!"

And then someone was at her side and helping her to her feet, and when the king next raised his hand to strike Misty, the blow fell upon his own son instead.

All was silent.

Ash stood glaring at his bewildered father while Misty looked on in a daze. No one dared speak.

After what seemed an interminable moment, King Ashton broke the oppressive silence.

"Ashton, why do you defend that wretch of a child when she has insulted you so?"

"She's not a wrench! She's my friend!" There was sharp defiance in his voice.

King Ashton gazed upon his child's fierce countenance and was visibly shaken. Those eyes were strikingly familiar. He spoke again, this time not to Ash but to Misty.

"Heed me, girl. I have no fondness of you. You are here only because my dear Catherine once loved you. But check yourself, or I promise you, your life will become most difficult."

With these words, he turned and departed from the room, leaving Mordecai to tend the injured children.

Misty sank to the floor.

"Misty, are you all right?!" Ash demanded, grabbing her wrist and her attention.

"I'm _fine_!" She replied curtly, jerking her wrist from his grasp. "Leave me alone!"

er heart was a turbulence of emotions. She was mortified, angry, dispirited- but there was another feeling. What was it? Joy, Misty decided- joy borne of kindness. And confusion. Ash had thrown her totally off guard. He had always been her opponent, her rival. Never would she have imagined that he would protect her. What was she to think of him now? She hadn't a clue of how to react. Grief and happiness mixed, and the whirl of conflicting emotions flooded her heart. She felt a tremendous energy coursing through her body, yet she was overwhelmed. Misty was loathe to show weakness, but she couldn't hold back her tears no longer. She turned her face away in shame.

"Idiot. You should've known better." Philip mocked.

But no one gave any attention to him now.

"Why did he hit her?!" Ash exclaimed, now turning his attention to Mordecai.

Mordecai sighed heavily.

"Because she insulted you, his son, and so insulted him as well. As king, he won't tolerate rebellion from those weaker than himself. "

"But that's not fair!"

"You're right, it isn't, but that is how things are." He paused.

"Your father never used to be so cruel. When your mother was alive, he was very kind. I remember it well. But after Catherine died, he became bitter and intolerant. He has suffered very much . . . but that is no excuse for his behavior."

Mordecai spoke to Misty with admonishing, but gentle words.

"I am sorry if I was harsh with you earlier, Misty," he said, "but understand, I only meant to protect you. I was afraid that something like this might happen. You _are_ a good student, but you are also prideful. Boasting will get you nowhere."

"But what else can I do?" Misty burst in desperation. "No one _ever_ notices me!"

Mordecai looked down at her sympathetically and patted her head.

"Work hard and be modest. You _can_ find a place here. It will never be easy for you, but you have people who love you. You can find happiness in this life."

But Misty was incredulous, and she turned her anger on her beloved teacher.

"What do you know about it?!"

Mordecai, however, was unfazed by her bitter response.

"More than you might think." He answered.

Anna soon arrived to collect the children, and after much fuss and fabrication had been made over their bruises, they left school for the day and followed her back down the hall.

"Hurry, hurry!" Anna called back to the dawdling little ones. "I'm late with my chores, and I don't want to fall further behind!"

Ash and Misty ignored her command, but Anna was already far ahead of them, too distracted by thoughts of delayed work to notice. They walked slowly together, in silence, until at last Ash spoke.

"Misty?"

"Yes?"

Misty stopped and turned toward Ash, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing,only stared at his feet uncertainly.

"Well, what is it?" She asked impatiently.

Ash raised his eyes and faced her.

"I'm sorry. He hit you because of _me_."

For the second time today, Misty was surprised by Ash's words.

All she could think to say was "It wasn't _your_ fault."

"I know, but . . . Misty?"

"What?"

"Do you . . . hate me?"

Misty searched his expression for any hint of insincerity, but she found none. It puzzled her- why was he asking such questions? She had never known him to care for her before.

But Misty took pity on him, so she smiled and answered "No."

And, much to her own amazement, it was true.

Ever after, Misty would remember this day as bitter-sweet. She had been humiliated, but through it she had realized how much she was loved. Every charitable act, things she had taken for granted before, called to mind Mordecai's words, and it was finally obvious to Misty. Though they were few, those close to her cared about her very much: Mordecai, Anna, and least expected of all, Ash. Despite their bickering, he had defended her without hesitation. Misty's heart softened toward him, and gradually, little by little, a friendship formed between them. They pridefully feigned antipathy toward each other, as if nothing had happened, but some intangible quality had changed. Though they still argued, there was no more cruelty in it. Neither would admit it, but an unusual friendship had blossomed between them. After that day, the tempests that had tormented the people of Kanto began to subside. There was an occasional storm, and the ocean was still rough, but its violent anger seemed quelled for now. Peacefully turning tides marked the days as the years passed.


	3. Prince of Tides

**Chapter 2: Prince of Tides**

The noon tide was coming in. The grassy knoll where Ash sat wasn't far from the sea, and he watched as summer sunlight danced across the ripples. He loved the sea. It was beautiful and mysterious, and best of all, unpredictable. The sea was untamed, and none could control it. It was its own master, free to do as it pleased. Ash watched until the scene became too dazzling to look upon, then closed his eyes and let the warmth of a gentle breeze lull him to sleep. If there were ever a perfect day for a nap, it was surely today. But his rest was cut short. Just as he was drifting off, a voice from over the hill jarred him awake. Ash opened one eye and watched as Misty approached.

"Ash, _there_ you are!" She said when she saw him. "I've looked all over for you."

He closed his eye again as she sat down next to him.

"Sorry." He said. "But how was I supposed to know? After all, it's not like you to skip school, Misty."

"_I'm_ not skipping, you idiot!" Misty retaliated, obviously annoyed. "_You_ are! School's already over for today! You missed a lot, you know."

"_Not this again."_ Ash thought.

He already knew what was coming next, and he didn't want to hear it. He hated this argument. But Misty would continue whether he objected or not, so he decided that he might as well defend himself.

"I don't care." He said. "It's just a lot of boring stuff about things that happened a long time ago. Why should all that matter to me?"

This was his usual response, the one he gave no matter how many times it failed. He waited for Misty to counter.

"'All that 'boring stuff' is supposed to help you become a good king someday."

Ah, there it was, just as he had anticipated.

"You sound like Mordecai." Ash said, sitting up. "He always says that, but he never explains what it means. _How_ exactly is that stuff supposed to help me?"

"You have to ask? You really _are_ slow."

He rolled his eyes in reply.

"Just answer the question."

"It's supposed to help you learn things like military strategy, so that you can defend your country, and rule it wisely."

"A king doesn't have to worry about that stuff, his generals take care of it for him." Ash explained.

Why would no one admit this?

"A king is supposed to guide his generals, Ash, not the other way around!" Misty said forcefully. "And who do you think selects them in the first place?! How will you judge which of your men are fit to lead if you can't even lead yourself?! And there's more to Mordecai's lessons that just that!"

Ash could see that Misty was quickly becoming frustrated, so he conceded. He disliked losing an argument, but he liked her temper even less.

"Fine," he said as he lay back down, "why don't you tell me what we studied today. It's much more interesting when you tell it anyway."

"Don't think flattery is going to get you out of trouble, Ash." Misty said curtly. "But I'll review for you as best I can, for your own good. Let's see, we studied another creation myth. This one was about how the shore was formed. Where the shore is now, there used to be a great chasm, until . . . "

Ash's mind drifted as she droned. Being a prince was awfully boring, especially considering how wonderful it sounded. He thought back to when he was small, when he had first understood what Anna meant when she told him that he was going to be king. Then, he had known nothing about princely obligations, and it had seemed an exciting future. He would rule with power and make life-altering decisions. He would be known and loved by all his subjects, and have servants to carry out his every whim. His would be a country of strength and wealth. These were the dreams he built with childish hopes. Ash had looked up in awe at the king sitting upon the high throne, a figure of absolute authority and respect. He was so brilliant that even his own golden crown couldn't outshine him. Ash had greatly admired him, and tried to imagine the day when he himself would become a glorious king. And then a thing happened that put a crack in his naive ideals.

The king, whom he had thought so great and just, in a fit of rage hurt someone much weaker than himself. Ash was horrified that his beloved father would do such a thing. It was almost inconceivable to his young mind. He could barely think for shock. But then he did something he had never imagined he could- he defied his father. He had sprung from his seat before he even knew what was happening, too angry to be afraid. And it was so easy. His great father had bent to the will of a child. For the first time, he was made to see him as the human he was, rather than the godlike being he had seemed before. Ash slowly lost fear of him. The respect he had held for him as a child was replaced with disdain. Time and experience were the only things that could truly erode his childish beliefs, the incident was what made Ash begin to question them. Afterward, he began noticing faults in his father that he had never seen before. He was a cold man, and his spirit held no compassion. There was little he seemed to care for. Ash never saw him, unless he was summoned to court, or was being assessed in his school work. And though these hours were few, he always dreaded them. It seemed to him that he was nothing more than a trophy to his father, an actor to perform. Ash buckled under the weight of his judgement. No matter how hard he studied or practiced, he would always blunder. Then his father would shake his head in disappointment, making him feel stupid and inept. But Ashton would accept nothing less than perfection. His son's failure was _his _shame, and he was a proud man. Image was everything. He tolerated no insult, no matter how trivial. He was stern and austere, never smiling. His very presence exuded severity, and the lines traced in his forehead shew his harsh nature. These were the things that Ash hated most about his father.

But though he could not respect the man himself, he did respect him as a leader. Ashton had the loyalty and love of his people. They feared him, and none dared disobey his will. He worked tirelessly to ensure that his kingdom was safe, that its citizens had food and shelter. ll of Kanto prospered under his rule. Ash now recognized this for the great accomplishment it was. The more he learnt about his future duties, the more he realized that being king was no easy task. It took great skill to lead. Subjects were not slaves, and they would turn on a ruler if he weren't judicious. Though Ash was not eager to admit it, Misty spoke truthfully- he needed much more studying if he ever hoped to be as good a king as his father.

But was this really what he wanted? Ash was beginning to have his doubts. He still looked forward to the fame and fortune of leadership, but he had long since realized that they came with a price. There was much work to be done, very tedious work. He was tired of endless lessons and silly ceremonies. It might have been bearable if there were any purpose in it, but it was meaningless to Ash. He felt no calling to lead and found no fulfillment in his work. There were things much more important to him. His dreams lay not in politics and geography, but in foreign lands and new discoveries. Dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms often visited the palace, and they brought with them many strange and wonderful things: perfumes and silks from Johto, exotic flowers from Hoenn, and brilliant jewels from Orre. Ash treasured these things and dreamt of the exotic lands whence they had come. He wanted to travel, to see the world beyond the castle gates. The horizon was inviting. Sometimes he tried to imagine what it would be like to leave everything behind and answer its call. He could stow away on a ship, become a traveler, start a new life. It was an alluring idea. But of course, it was only a dream. He could never do such a thing. It was impossible for one who would one day become king. Ash knew that it was best to forget such silly fancies before they took hold of his heart. It was useless to long for things he could never have. Much more than useless, the longing could consume him with misery, as it had many before him. Yet even with this knowledge, the thoughts continued to tantalize him. Ash had of course tried to put them out of mind, but to no avail. His daydreams always returned, stronger and more vivid than before. He only hoped that they would fade as he grew older. Yes, when he became king, he would have much more important business to attend to. He would have no time for such foolishness, and would be forced to forget his childish imaginings. But . . . a part of Ash did not want to forget. This part of him told that him these daydreams were important, not just the wanderings of an idle mind. It told him to listen to the persistent voice inside of him. But as he was thinking on this, he noticed the sudden absence of another persistent voice.

"Huh?" He said, still in somewhat of a daze.

"Ash, you haven't been listening at all!" Misty raged. "Have you even heard one word I've said?"

"Um . . . shore! There was definitely something about a shore!"

Ash was rewarded for this reply with a sharp slap to the face.

"Ow, you don't have to hit me!" He complained while rubbing his tender cheek.

He had regained his sitting position.

"I _wouldn't_ have to if _you_ would only pay attention!"

"But it's so boring!" His voice came out thin and whiny.

"Oh really? But I thought you said that it was so _interesting_ when I told it."

"No, I said it was _more_ interesting. That's not saying a lot."

Ash expected Misty to argue her point further, but she did not. Instead, she jerked her face away from him and stood to leave. He quickly moved to follow her.

"Hey, where are you going?" He called to her back.

"Home. I have better things to do than waste my breath telling stories that no one listens to."

"Aw, come on, Misty. I'm sorry, all right? Why are you so mad? It's not your problem if I fail my lessons."

At this, Misty stopped and turned. Ash thought he saw a trace of sadness mixed with the anger in her eyes.

"Don't you even care?!" She yelled. She stomped toward him in until their faces were mere inches apart. Behind her, the placid sea was becoming rough and foamy.

"I don't even know what people I belong to!" She cried. "I would give anything to know who they are, where I come from! Yet you, you have the privilege of knowing your history in detail, and you waste it! Don't you know how important it is?!"

Ash stood with his mouth agape, stupefied. He suddenly felt very guilty.

"Misty . . . I'm sorry. Tell it again, I promise I'll listen this time."

But Misty was already walking away.

"Just forget it, Ash."

"Please." He begged.

"No. I don't want to tell it if you don't _want_ to listen. It's meaningless."

Ash was irritated Misty's insistence upon anger. She could be so _stubborn_.

"Hey, I said I'm sorry, but I can't take it back! And how am I supposed to _make_ myself care when I don't?!"

Misty sighed, stopping. The sea slowly quieted with her.

"I suppose you're right." She said. "I take it too seriously. I suppose you only care about something when you can't have it yourself. Silly, right?"

She laughed, but sadly. Ash saw through her careless act. Now, he wished that she had stayed angry.

"No, it's not silly." He said. "It _is_ important. I just . . . take it for granted. Tell it again. I want to hear it, I do."

Misty laughed again, this time sincerely.

"Oh, all right. If you're _really_ going to listen."

Ash laughed with her. Misty was such a strange girl. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Most of the people he knew had dark hair and eyes, but Misty's hair was brilliant red, her eyes a watery blue. And her appearance was the most ordinary thing about her. Misty was so temperamental; her mood seemed to change with the sea. She could go from good-tempered to angry in mere seconds. Ash was constantly bickering with her. There were times when he wondered why he even considered her his friend. No one was so rude to him as Misty. Few dared to even correct him. Even Anna, the only mother he had ever known, refused to admit his faults. But Misty certainly had no qualms about being honest. And in some ways, Ash appreciated it. Misty was not one for empty praises. Her compliments were rare and precious, and Ash valued every one. There was no pretending with her. Misty was simply herself, regardless of what others thought. Likewise, Ash did not need to be someone else for her. She accepted him just as he was. When he was with her, he was no longer Prince Ashton, but just . . . Ash.

"Hey, Ash!" Misty snapped. "Are you still listening?"

"Yes, of course."

Ash scolded himself for having ignored her again. He hadn't meant to break his promise. But Misty seemed not to notice. He had at least kept his eyes on her, if not his attention. She continued, and this time, he focused on her story.

"A great battle was waged over who would claim the void, sea or land, and many people died. The gods knew that something must be done to end the fighting. Caelus, the god of the sky, decided that the land must be shared. But no one could think of how this could be done. inally, Pelagia, the god of the sea, came up with the idea that he and Maia, goddess of the earth, should join together. Maia was Caelus' wife, but Caelus understood that he must make a sacrifice to save the earth. So it was done, and Maia later gave birth to the shore."

"Wait, how can anyone give birth to a mass of land?" Ash asked.

These stories always confused him.

"It's a legend, Ash. Things like that happen in legends."

"But it's dumb!"

"It is not! It's beautiful!"

"But it doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe not to you."

"You're crazy if you thik that story made any sense at all."

"What?!" Misty yelled. "Say that again, I dare you!"

"_Perfect, now she's mad again."_ Ash thought, but he wouldn't quit an argument once begun. And he had to admit, it was fun to goad her.

"You didn't hear me? Well, I guess I'll have to say it slowly so you'll understand. You're-crazy."

"Hm." Misty huffed, straitening up. "I shouldn't have expected a clout like you to understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself. I'm crazy, remember?"

"Oh, come on!" Ash retorted. "You know I wasn't serious!"

"Idiot. You shouldn't say something you don't mean."

"Do _you_ mean everything _you_ say?"

Misty smirked haughtily and stuck her nose in the air.

"Of course!" She said.

Ash gave an exaggerated sigh, but he laughed inwardly. Misty's attitude, though irritating, could be endearing. But of course, he would never tell her so.

"That's not really fair, Misty, you can't hold His Highness to your standard."

Ash jumped at the sound of a hearty chuckle.

"True, true." Misty replied, obviously not startled as Ash had been. "But what are you doing here, Daniel?"

He turned to find Daniel, the new grounds-keeper, looking down at the two of them. Daniel was already tall, but from where he stood on the crest of the hill, he seemed a giant. His body was tan and muscle-bound from days spent working in the sun, and the wind blew rust-colored hair in his face. Fortunately, his demeanor was not nearly as intimidating as his appearance.

"Only taking a break." He said. "I hope I'm not intruding on anything."

"Of course not!" Misty chirped. "I was just surprised that you were able to find your way. You _are_ new here."

Daniel chortled loudly again.

"Oh, that was easy. All I had to do was follow the sound of incessant arguing."

Misty blushed, seeming embarrassed at having been caught engaging in such unladylike behavior.

"Er, so, are you getting used to life here?" She asked, trying to change the topic.

Daniel sat on the grass and crossed his legs before speaking.

"Yes, I think I'm adjusting, but it's not been easy. Life here is a lot different than in my homeland."

Ash sat up straighter, his interest sparked by the mention of a far-off land.

"What was your home like, Daniel?" He asked excitedly.

"Ash!" Misty exclaimed. "Daniel might not want to be reminded of home right now!"

"I don't mind." Said Daniel. "I truly loved my home, and it makes me happy that someone is interested in it. Let's see, where should I begin? Oh yes, I suppose I ought to tell you where I lived. My village lay on the largest of the South Sea Islands, very far from here. It was much warmer there. Most of the people were fishermen or shipbuilders, and we traded with the mainland for other supplies. Our homes were simple- our lives were simple, but we were happy. You should've seen the marketplace on Saturdays, loud, busy, exciting." Daniel paused and sighed nostalgically, a distant gleam in his eyes.

But, as when a cloud passes in front of the sun on a summer's day, his expression suddenly darkened. Ash sensed that the story, like the teller, was about to become grave. But Daniel did not continue. It was as though he were remembering something too painful to tell. Ash saw this and hesitated for a moment, but finally curiosity overcame modesty.

"What happened?" He asked cautiously.

Daniel was still silent, and at first, Ash thought that he had not heard him. He was about to ask again, when abruptly, Daniel began.

"We were . . . discovered, by a Kantonese campaign. Our tribal elder knew that he couldn't stand against the Kantonese army, so he ceded our land to His Highness."

"Daniel . . . I'm so sorry . . ." Ash said somberly.

His own country's selfishness sickened him.

"You need needn't be. It wasn't your doing."

He knew this, and yet . . .

"But aren't you angry?"

Daniel paused a moment.

"Yes, sometimes." He said. "I try to forgive, but it isn't easy. Kings and generals only care about land. It's a game to them. They don't consider the people involved. And we were lucky. Those tribes who resisted were all but destroyed."

"Things'll be different when I'm king." Ash proclaimed. "I'll make sure there _isn't_ any war."

He was somewhat offended when Daniel laughed.

"I'm serious!"

"I don't doubt it," Daniel said, trying to suppress a final chuckle, "but it's not that simple. War can't be completely avoided."

"Why not?"

"There will always be conflict. You must choose your battles carefully, but sometimes war is necessary."

"No it's not! I don't believe that!" Ash insisted.

Daniel did not get angry as he would have expected, but sighed and smiled kindly.

"You're so young, Your Highness," He said. "I suppose I shouldn't ask you to understand. But when you have something that you want to protect, you will."

Ash crossed his arms and furrowed his brows defiantly. Daniel was wrong. Just because there had never been peace before didn't mean it was impossible. Surely there was _some_ way, and he would find it, no matter how elusive it proved.

"Well, I had best get back to work." Daniel said, interrupting Ash's thoughts. "His Majesty wouldn't be pleased to find a sluggard amongst his workers."

"That's all right, Daniel," said Misty, "it's time for Ash's swordplay lessons anyway. Isn't it, Ash?"

Ash groaned a protest, and she laughed.

"It's not _that_ bad." She said.

"Easy for you to say," Ash said as he stood, brushing the grass from his blue tunic, "all you have to do is watch."

"Lucky for me, huh?"

"You have no idea."

Swordplay was most definitely not his favorite activity. It was, like so many other things, silly and pointless, and painful besides, and he wasn't exceedingly gifted in the art. But his instructor demanded perfection. In his day, Sir William of Viridian had been the fiercest, most dedicated knight in service to the king, and he expected the same determination from his students. This was unfortunate for Ash, who, needless to say, couldn't have cared less about his lessons. But Sir William seemed to think that, by yelling, he could _make _him care, so Ash was constantly being bombarded with criticisms.

"You're late!" He barked upon Ash's arrival.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again." Ash quickly replied.

He hoped there was enough confidence in his voice to conceal his nervousness. Inwardly, though he was loathe to admit it, he shrank at his teacher's reprimand. Ash scolded himself for a coward.

"_I'm going to be king," _he thought, _"I can't let my own sword instructor scare me."_

But he couldn't help feeling small. For though Sir William's hair was white with age, he was tall and muscular, his posture strait and his manner intimidating. Ash pitied the men who had fallen before him on the battlefield.

"Ashton!" Sir William yelled, startling Ash. "Stop dreaming and pay attention! Take your sword and start practicing your slash with Philip!"

Misty giggled from her place on the stone floor. Ash glared at her, and she offered a muffled "Good luck," through her hands. She was bad at hiding her laughter, but he chose to ignore her for now. He took his sword from Sir William and faced Philip.

Philip was older and taller than Ash, and stronger as well. His expression, if it could be called that, was stoic, and his brown hair trim and neat.

"Take your positions!" Commanded Sir William.

Ash raised his sword in front of him so that it crossed Philip's at an angle. Their muscles tensed as they awaited the signal.

"Begin!"

In an instant, the silence was broken by the click-clacking of wood against wood. Ash slashed at Philip but missed and sliced air, and Philip came back with a more successful cut that clapped against Ash's sword. Now Ash was pushing Philip back, and now Philip Ash. Back and forth they went, the clatter echoing through the vacuous stone corridor all the while. Ash parried blow with blow, and smiled as he realized that he was keeping up with Philip. In another moment, he had the upper hand. He was doing unusually well today, and he was quite pleased with himself. Perhaps he could even win! But before he could even complete the thought, Philip's sword hit its mark, and came down upon Ash's head with a sickening crack.

* * *

Ash regained consciousness to find himself lying on the flat on the floor. His senses were slowly coming back to him, and he could feel cold stone against his skin. He groaned as the pain in his head returned as well. In another second, the black spots before his eyes began to dissipate, and he saw Misty and Sir William staring down at him. 

"Are you all right, Ash?" Misty asked while helping him to sit up.

"I think so." He answered, rubbing his head.

Ash caught sight of Philip standing on the opposite side of the room, watching with his usual blank face.

"Apologize to Ashton!" Sir William ordered.

But Philip acted as though he had not heard.

"It's all right, really." Ash said, forcing a laugh.

He didn't really think it was all right, but he didn't want to aggravate an already tense situation.

"And you," Sir William turned to him now, "you were careless. You could have easily dodged! Never let your guard down like that!"

"Yes sir."

Ash knew well whose side his instructor had taken. Sir William had chided Philip, but it was a half-hearted reproach. He was the sort of person who didn't believe in fair play.

"_Swordplay is not a game,"_ he was often heard to say, _"there are no rules. All that matters is winning, and you must take every opportunity given you."_

Ash knew that this was true, however cruel it was. In battle, the winner was the one who survived. Believing in things like fairness would only lead to an early grave.

"_But we're not going into battle." _Ash argued to himself. _"It's all ceremony."_

He had already decided that he would eliminate war in Kanto. And even in wartime, the king never saw the battlefield. Swordplay was only taught for the sake of tradition, and Ash found it a waste of time. His heart simply wasn't in it. Not like Philip.

Philip was the very opposite of Ash, and took his sword lessons quite seriously. _Too_ seriously. Ash was covered in bruises from their practice matches. He was not a little grateful that they used only wooden swords, for he was sure that Philip would have no second thoughts about cutting him to bits. In fact, he thought that Philip might actually _enjoy_ killing him. For reasons unknown to Ash, Philip seemed to hate him. He had always been hostile, from the very moment they met in Mordecai's classroom so long ago. Ash wondered why. He'd never done anything to Philip. At least, not that he could remember. He thought about this as Anna tended his injury, trying to recall anything from the past that might have angered Philip. But there was nothing, Philip's anger was completely unreasonable. Ash couldn't stand him. He was sick of being humiliated. Just once, he wanted to beat Philip and wipe that superior look off his face. The fact that it was impossible infuriated him even more. But Philip was bigger, stronger, and a better fighter. Ash knew he could never beat him. And he had to admit, he was a little afraid of him. This too, added to his anger.

"Ow!" He cried, his thoughts suddenly interrupted

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ashton," Anna fussed, "But we have to take care of it or it'll get worse."

"I know, but it still hurts."

Ash was glad that Misty was currently at the library. It was embarrassing when Anna fussed over him like this in front of her.

"I would beat that Philip good if I had the chance!" She was ranting. "He's horrible, him and that mother of his!"

"It's all right, Anna," Ash said, weary of her overprotectiveness, "I'm not really angry."

"Well I am! And you should be. He has no right to treat you like that. It's cruel, and it's disloyal! You're his own country's prince! And his brother besides!"

The word sounded so out of place that it took a moment to enter his consciousness. When it did, it hit him with the same force as Philip's sword.

"Brother?!" He exclaimed.

"Yes . . . has no one told you?"

"No!"

"Oh, Ashton, I'm so sorry. I was sure you knew. Philip-"

"But I don't understand . . . how is that possible?!"

"Settle down, settle down." Anna shushed. "Give me a moment to explain."

Ash squirmed in his seat, waiting as patiently as he could. His mind was moving so fast he couldn't keep up. The news had come as quite a shock, and he was bursting with questions.

"Philip is your half-brother, Ashton." Anna began. "Or so his mother claims. I don't believe it. After all, how could that brat be related-"

"But if Philip's my brother . . . why doesn't he live with us? Why don't I ever see him with my father?"

"Philip . . . has always been hostile toward you, Ashton. It's his decision to keep his distance."

Even the answer brought new questions.

"But _why_? Why does he hate me so much?"

"Probably because he thinks you stole his birthright from him." Anna answered patiently. "Had you not been born, he would have been your father's heir."

"But . . . why_ isn't_ Philip heir? He's older than me, isn't he?"

"Philip is your father's illegitimate son, Ash. His mother is a courtesan, but you are the child of the queen. It is only right that you succeed your father."

Ash took a moment to let this set in.

"_That's_ why he hates me?" he asked breathlessly. "But that's so stupid!"

"I know, Ashton."

"He can have it if he wants it that bad!"

"Ashton! You must never say things like that!" Anna yelled, snapping Ash from his fervor. "It is your birthright and you should be proud!"

A sigh was the only answer he gave. Anna's unflagging loyalty was somehow vexing. It was patronizing and embarrassing, and . . . There was something else too, but Ash couldn't quite say what.

But he couldn't think about that now. He was still dazed from the unexpected information. It felt so unreal. He needed to get away from Anna, needed to think. So as soon as he could, Ash escaped her watchful gaze and slipped down to the shore. It was quiet here, serene. There were no distractions, and he could take his time sorting his thoughts. He sat on the boundary between shore and sea, where the receding tide still touched his bare feet. The hypnotic pulse of waves calmed him and cleared his head as he sifted through his feelings. But it was difficult to make sense of something so senseless. Ash didn't care about being king. The job was long, tiring work, and meant nothing to him. Philip was the better choice by far. He was devoted to his studies and yearned to rule. But ability and will, things that ought to have been most decisive, were given no weight at all. A king was foolishly selected by lineage alone. Ash was grieved by his brother's hatred. Philip's anger didn't seem so unreasonable anymore. It was still unfair, and Ash was still angry at him. But somehow, he also felt guilty that his own existence brought his brother so much unhappiness. He was surprised to find that he loved him in spite of everything. Ash would have gladly given him the crown if it would mend their kinship. But tradition forbade it. The solution was so simple, yet so frustratingly out of reach. Hot tears formed in Ash's eyes. What mad world was this, where brother was turned against brother? The bond that should have been unbreakable was destroyed by so frivolous a thing. Ash was growing to hate the destiny given him more with each passing day. In this moment, he decided once and for all that did not want to be king.

"Ash!" Misty called.

He turned from his thoughts to face her as she walked down the beach, her red hair blowing behind her in an evening breeze.

"I thought I might find you here." She said as she sat beside him.

"Oh, hi." Ash answered lackadaisically.

He wondered how long he had been sitting there. It felt like a few minutes, but it was probably several hours, he realized from the position of the sun.

"Are you all right? You don't look well."

Ash did not answer. Silently, he was deliberating whether to tell her. He didn't feel like talking to her or anyone else right now, especially about Philip. Still, she was bound to find out sooner or later. It was probably better to say it strait out and avoid the conversation that would surely lead to it.

"Ash? What is it?"

He quickly decided and said it all at once, before he could lose his nerve.

"Philip's my brother."

There was a moment of uneasy quiet.

"Oh." Misty whispered finally.

She did not seem surprised at all.

"You're not surprised?"

"I . . . already knew."

Ash felt a chill run down his spine at her words.

"What?! How?" He cried.

"Well, I didn't _know_," Misty confessed, "but I had guessed as much. You and Philip have the same face, and he's so hateful toward you . . . it just sort of . . . fell together."

"How long have you known?" He asked, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Misty glanced at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Ash. I thought you knew too."

Ash didn't know what to say. How had she known when he hadn't? Was it really _that_ obvious? But the more he thought about it, the simpler it seemed. Misty was right, Philip's face _was_ similar to his own. And his envy, so mysterious in the past, seemed painfully clear now.

"_How could I have not seen it?" Ash _agonized, covering his face with his hands. _"My own __brother . . ."_

There was silence for a moment. Then Misty spoke.

"Ash, you shouldn't blame yourself for not knowing." she said quietly

"Sometimes . . . sometimes the closer you are to someone, the harder it is to see the truth."

Ash wondered how she could read his mind like that.

He expected Misty to say more, to ask questions or try to console him, but she just stared out to sea. Ash looked away from her, down to the waves swishing around his feet. The tears he had been holding back were silently rolling down his cheeks. They splashed into the sea, and more beside them. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Misty's sympathetic face and smiled weakly. No one knew him better than Misty. She understood his sorrow without any words. It was times such as these that reminded him how glad he was of her friendship. The two sat in silence for a long time, until the sun was just a sliver of gold above the blue sea. They left only when it had grown too dark to see. But even as they departed, tranquil waves carried Ash's tears toward the horizon, tiny drops in a vast ocean.


	4. Dreams in the Mist

**Chapter 3: ****Dreams in the Mist**

Misty stared out the window at a quiet sea, ignoring the book in her lap. She wasn't in the library. Four gray walls surrounded her and her feet rested on the tattered rug, but she was somewhere far beyond the arched windows. Sighing, she rested her elbow on the table in front of her and cradled her head in her hand. Misty was dreaming again. She had left behind the cavernous, dusty room for her own world.Now she was in Johto, a distant land oceans away, home of the Ramulians. Misty had recently read about this ancient and mysterious race. They were foreign in every aspect- their silken robes, their strange foods, their homes of wood and straw. But what Misty found most interesting were the legends surrounding them. The Ramulians were said to practice magic, and knew how to cure any illness imaginable. They spoke an arcane tongue that was unintelligible to outsiders. At least, to those outsiders who managed to get in. The Ramulians were a secluded people, choosing to shut themselves off from the rest of the world. Perhaps this was part of the enigma. But Misty was fascinated by them nonetheless. She had spent hours trying to decipher their beautiful writing, studying their customs, and reading their legends.

She tried to imagine what it was like to be one of them. And perhaps she _was_ one of them. Misty was an orphan. No one knew who her parents were or whence she had come. And she certainly didn't _look_ like a native of Kanto. But painful as this was, an ambiguous past had infinite possibilities. Misty could be anyone she wanted. She could be the child of Ramulian slaves, brought from their homeland on a ship. Her parents had abandoned her in hopes that she would be able to make a better life for herself. Maybe she even had latent magical powers. It would start slowly. She would begin to have strange dreams, dreams that would prove true in the waking world. Her powers would grow, and would soon become an invaluable aid to the king. Or perhaps her own father was a king. Perhaps she was really a princess, kidnapped from her country by a jealous uncle set on becoming ruler himself. One day a knight would arrive from Hoenn and reveal Misty's true identity. He would put to shame those who had maltreated his princess. Then he would take her back home to anxiously awaiting parents, where the King would have a marvelous celebration in honor of his daughter's return. The people would be overjoyed at the rescue of their long-lost princess. She and the handsome knight would fall in love and be married, and rule Hoenn together with love and wisdom . . . And perhaps the earth was round.

Misty wasn't a fool. She knew her fantasies for what they were, which was terribly unrealistic. The truth was probably very simple. Most likely she was the result of an evening's passion between two misguided servants, unwanted and unloved by even her own parents. She was probably more common than a dormouse. Still, Misty couldn't stop dreaming. She fingered the stone that hung from her neck. _Someone_ must have cared for her enough to give it to her. Even if the chances were small, she could almost believe that her fantasies were real. Even if it were only a game, it gave her the strength to hold her head high. In this way, Misty's fantasies were a gift. But they had a darker side. Happy as her dreams made her, they could also bring sadness. They were so wonderful, and her own life so dull. They haunted her, a reminder of everything she could never have. It was as if happiness were just beyond her grasp, twinkling stars never to be reached. She could gaze at them to her heart's content, but would never be able to leave the earth. Misty sighed as she thought on this.

She looked across the table at Ash, hoping for some distraction from her gloomy thoughts. He was near to falling asleep over his book, and she laughed to herself. A little too loudly, it seemed, for Ash started and glared at her. But this reaction only made her laugh more.

"Ash! Misty! What are you doing?"

"Um . . ." Misty stammered.

She had almost forgotten that Mordecai was even there.

"I brought you here to research the Kanto-Hoenn War. Now quit playing and get to work."

"Yes sir . . ." Misty and Ash grumbled.

Philip snorted at them, acting as perturbed as he possibly could at being interrupted.

Misty blushed at being caught, but this wasn't the first time this had happened Sometimes she had almost as much trouble paying attention in school as Ash. It wasn't that she found her lessons boring. Not usually. But some topics were so dull that she couldn't resist the temptation to escape to her own world. And war was one of the most boring, especially from a book. It was interesting enough when Mordecai taught it. He made the people involved seem real and the battle strategies intriguing. But in books- in books it was all names and dates, just words on paper. Misty's imagination was much too active to let her focus on that. But for now, at least, she forced herself to concentrate on her reading. Time moved painstakingly slow. Misty's eyes started to droop, and she feared she would fall asleep before class was over. But finally, after many long minutes, Mordecai dismissed his students. Misty sighed wearily and gathered her things, trying to make a quick exit before Mordecai could change his mind. Unfortunately, she was not quick enough.

"Misty, could I speak to you for a moment?" The old man said.

Misty cringed. She'd been stopped in her tracks just short of the door.

"_So close!"_ She thought.

But she faked a smile, turned back to her tutor, and dutifully returned to her seat.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" She asked, a little too cheerfully.

"Oh no, it's nothing like that. I was just wondering if you're feeling all right. You seemed almost melancholy today."

Misty blushed for the second time that day. Not only did she hate being scolded, she was mortified to be caught in her dream world.

"Oh, I was just thinking about something." She laughed nervously. "I'm sorry. Anna's always telling me to stop dreaming."

But Mordecai shook his head emphatically.

"No, never stop dreaming." He said. "Sometimes dreams are all we have to keep us going. Just try to keep it out of class, eh?"

Misty returned his laugh and agreed, though she didn't think she could promise anything.

"Misty," he continued, "I have something I'd like to give you."

Mordecai took the worn bag he had slung over his shoulder and set it on the ground. He grimaced as he leaned over, rubbing his stiff back.

But at last he got the bag open and pulled a simple book, completely ordinary with its brown leather cover. Slowly, he righted himself, and then handed the book to Misty. She took it and quickly flipped through the pages.

"It's blank." she said.

"It's a journal." Mordecai explained. "Perhaps if you write down your thoughts, you'll be less tempted to drift off in class, hm?"

He smiled teasingly, and Misty had to laugh at herself.

"Yes, thank you." she said. "I'll try my best."

"I suppose that will have to do. Now get on with you, I'm sure you have things you'd rather be doing than talking to an old geezer like me."

"Thank you again!" Misty shouted as she exited.

A silly grin covered her face, but she didn't care. She was elated with her gift. The book was plain, but soon she would fill it with the most beautiful imaginings. And moreover, it was a gift from Mordecai. Misty thought the world of her teacher. He was wise and kind, almost like a father to her. It meant so much that he thought well of her. Misty arrived in her tiny hovel of a room and sat on her bed. It wasn't the best place for writing, but there was little other furniture in the room- a chair, a bed stand. The room had formerly belonged to a servant, who would have had no need for such a thing as a writing desk. Misty supposed that she could have stayed in the library, but she wanted to write in privacy. She considered herself lucky to have her own room. Not that the library was much disturbed, but she felt somehow safer here. Now the only thing left was to decide what to write. This should've been a simple task. Misty's head was full of wonderful stories. But it was harder than it seemed. Books were precious resources, and Misty was determined not to waste hers. So she paced the room. She sat down again. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. She stood again. All the while agonizing over which idea was best. Two hours passed, and she still had nothing written.

At last, she decided upon the story of the lost princess and her handsome knight. The plot was interesting but not convoluted, the characters strong but not unbelievable. Most importantly, it was just realistic enough to be believable, and just fantastic enough to be romantic. She wrote slowly, taking special care not to make any mistakes. It was gratifying to see the letters curl and the words take shape beneath her pen. And as the ink dried on the pages, the story took on a new power. It took on a life of its own under Misty's guidance and became more real than it had ever been when she had only imagined it. It was entrancing. Misty poured all of her concentration into the little book, totally unaware of time. When finally she did look up, she found that the sky outside her little window was growing dark. And all at once, the loneliness that had been lurking inside her all day surfaced with full force. Now that her fantastic story was done, reality hit her hard. It wasn't her life of obscurity that bothered her so much. Status was wonderful, but Misty didn't need it. She would be happy, she thought, if only she belonged somewhere.

As it was, she had no place. She wasn't one of the royal family; to them, she was completely insignificant. And she didn't work for her keep as the servants did. Misty knew they resented this. When she spoke to them, their responses were cold and abrupt. And if she ever tried to help with the chores, they complained of her sloppy work with increasing irritation, until finally they shooed her off, complaining that she was in the way. It seemed that Misty spent most of her life being "in the way". She had no role to perform, no duty to fulfill. She was nothing but a burden to those around her. And what did the future hold? What would happen to her after she finished her schooling? Would she be cast out, with no skills to find work? Or would she spend the rest of her days in the castle, living a life without purpose, dependent on others who didn't want her? How dull that would be! Most of the time, she could avoid these gloomy thoughts, but they weighed on her heart nonetheless. The future was always approaching; she couldn't avoid it forever.

Life would have been brighter, Misty thought, had her mother lived. She was only two when her mother died, but she remembered a gentle smile and a soft voice. Misty had been adopted, but she knew her mother had been a kind woman. Everyone said so. _Surely_ she would have been provided some place in the court, even if she was not fully accepted by the royal family. And even if this weren't true, she wouldn't have minded so much if she had a mother who cared for her. Belonging in the world wouldn't have mattered so much if she could find acceptance in a mother's love. Misty of course had people who cared about her, but it wasn't the same. A mother loved her child unconditionally; she was someone to confide it, someone who could comfort and give guidance. Her child belonged to her, and her to her child. Misty wondered what that felt like. Sometimes she tried to imagine what her life would be like now if her mother had lived. But she had died before Misty got a chance to really know her.

If only . . . but no, that was a horrible thing to think. She didn't want to feel that way. Besides, there was no use wishing for what could never be. The past couldn't be undone But . . . it was a persistent thought. Misty still struggled with it occasionally. Sometimes she couldn't help it, guilty though it made her feel. She had to be careful not to dwell on it when it arose. Luckily, Anna came in just then to announce dinner, and Misty was able to put her dour thoughts out of mind.

Not that she was looking forward to dinner much. Usually, she enjoyed it, but lately, it had been such a bore. Probably because Ash had stopped eating with her. He always ate with his father and brother, but he usually joined Misty afterward. Anna's cooking was much better than anything his father's chefs could make, he said, and much more filling. It amused Misty that he preferred peasant food to the king's rich dinners, and that he had such a huge appetite. She liked to tease him about it. But really, she was pleased that Ash enjoyed her company. She enjoyed his too. He was usually so cheerful and optimistic, and it was infectious. Misty always felt happy after talking with him. But lately . . . lately he had been so somber. He seemed all the time to be thinking of some great problem. Ash had hardly spoken to her these past few days. It was very uncharacteristic of him. But Misty supposed that he was still upset about his brother, Philip. It must have been an awful shock for him. Ash loved everyone he met, and for one of his own family to hate him must be terrible. And Misty suspected that he also felt some guilt. It wasn't his fault at all, of course, but it would be just like him. She could feel his hurt, and she felt sorry for him. It upset her to see her friend so distressed. She missed him. She wanted to talk to him again. Especially now.

But, Misty thought, even if Ash had been there, this was one thing she could never talk about with him. What would a prince understand about not belonging? Everyone loved him. He had a family and a place and a future to look forward to. No, it would be useless to try to explain her woes to him.

When Misty entered the kitchen, she was almost overcome by the stifling air. Anna had come in ahead of her and was sweating over a pot of stew.

"There you are." she said when she saw Misty. She ladled some of the stuff into a wooden bowl. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Misty thanked Anna as she handed the bowl to her and turned to go back to her room. She hadn't gone two steps when she bumped right into Daniel, spilling the contents of the bowl all over his white tunic.

"Misty!" Anna cried. "Look what you've done!"

Misty blushed scarlet.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I was being careless!" she said, bending over to scrape up the remains.

But Daniel was too good-natured to be angry. He just laughed as he wiped the stew away.

"That's all right. I shouldn't have crept up on you like that. Here, let me help you clean it up."

He grabbed a couple of rags from the counter and knelt down beside Misty, handing her one. The two of them wiped the floor scrupulously until it was clean.

"Thank you, Daniel." Misty said. "But are you sure you're not angry?"

"Not at all! In fact, it's worth getting covered in stew if I get to see you."

Misty giggled as Daniel filled two more bowls.

"Why don't you come eat with me in the garden? It's very pleasant out." He said as he gave her one.

Misty happily agreed. It was much better than eating alone in her room. She needed the company.

The atmosphere of the garden was a nice contrast to the hot, humid kitchen. There was a cool breeze blowing up from the sea, and the sky was purple and dotted with early stars. The crickets were just beginning their nightly chorus. Misty surveyed the garden, remembering how it had looked before Daniel had come. It had been dead- nothing but dry, withered brown stalks and brittle branches. The only green had come from the weeds that covered the ground. But Daniel had brought the garden to life. Now the trees were lush with leaves and blossoms, and the flowers bloomed with so many vivid colors- pinks, blues, yellows- every color Misty could name. She couldn't imagine how he had brought life from such barren soil. Even the garden walls were covered with flowering vines. In the twilight, the flowers' bright colors were subdued. Their soft scent mingled with the salty sea breeze. Sitting there in the evening light, Misty was overwhelmed by a strange feeling. The scene was so surreal, almost otherworldly. The violet sky, the verdant garden, the intoxicating scent in the air- things familiar in the daylight were made mysterious and wonderful by the twilight. She was suddenly aware of everything- no sound or sight escaped her awakened senses. Everything was alive, she was alive. She was young, and things were just beginning for her. In this golden moment, Misty was able to leave her worries far below as she floated above the earth. It was ecstacy.

"It's beautiful. It's almost . . . magical." She said, feeling a bit foolish.

But Daniel agreed with her.

"Isn't it?" He replied. "This has always been my favorite time of day."

Then they were silent for fear of breaking the spell. And it wasn't broken. But soon it changed. It was getting darker and colder, and the blissful mood faded to melancholy. It was a sad but intense feeling- strangely despairing and enrapturing all at once. Misty didn't fight it. She indulged her loneliness- let go and allowed it to pull her under. She let the strange emotions overflow in a pensive sigh. Daniel did n't fail to notice her change in mood.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Misty considered for a moment before answering, wondering if Daniel would understand. He was as much a foreigner as she was, she realized. He had been taken from his home against his will and dropped in this isolated place. Surely he was familiar with loneliness, too. Misty decided to trust him.

"Daniel," she began, "do you ever feel alone?"

"Alone?"

"Yes. Like you don't . . . belong here?"

"Not at all," came Daniel's reply, "I feel right at home here in the garden."

"Oh." Misty said, somewhat disappointed. But Daniel wasn't finished.

"But if you mean in there," he nodded toward the castle behind them, "then yes, I often feel out of place. Still . . ."

"'Still' what?"

"Still, I'm not sure that's the same as being alone. It's true that I've had a hard time adjusting to life here, with all its formalities and customs. But I haven't felt alone in a long time. I have many friends here, the other servants, His Highness, and you, of course. I still don't quite feel at home here, but I'm happy. But what about you, Misty? Are you lonely?"

Misty stared at the ground. She was starting to feel guilty for . . . not appreciating the friendships she did have, as Daniel did. But honestly, she really _did_ feel lonely. She couldn't change that. So she answered truthfully.

"Yes, I do."

Daniel smiled kindly at her.

"But Misty, you have many people who care about you. Anna, your teacher-"

"But Anna and Mordecai are old! I won't have them forever! What will happen to me when they're gone?"

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Daniel said, trying not to laugh but failing.

"But it's true, isn't it? I don't belong anywhere! I don't have anyone who will stay with me!"

Daniel stopped smiling and looked pitifully at the girl.

"What about His Highness, Prince Ashton?" he said.

"Ash doesn't need _me_, not really." Misty replied bitterly. "In a few years he'll be officially crowned prince. He'll leave me behind."

"I'm sure that's not true, Misty. I've watched the two of you for a while now, and I think you're very important to Ash. He seems to trust you. When you have to separate, I think it will be just as hard for him as for you."

"No, it wont. He has so many people surrounding him, important people. I have no one."

"I think you underestimate His Highness." Daniel said. "I'm sure I don't know him as well as you do, Misty, but he doesn't seem like one to care about status."

"No, he isn't," Misty agreed, "but he'll forget about me anyway. He won't mean to, but he will. He'll have new duties, a fiancé . . . I'm just a childhood friend. He won't have time for me anymore."

Daniel sighed in defeat, unable to convince Misty, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Well, I still think you're wrong about His Highness," he said, "but if it makes you feel better, I'll always be your friend."

Misty was glad of the darkness that covered her blush.

All she could think to say was "Thank you, Daniel."

But she was much happier than she was embarrassed. She wondered why it had never occurred to her to consider Daniel as her friend. He was such a kind, cheerful person, despite everything that had happened to him. He was wise and fair. Misty had always enjoyed talking to him, though this was the first time she had entrusted him with such important emotions. But tonight she had realized that she and Daniel shared a similar burden. Now it seemed obvious that they should be friends. And Misty decided that they would be ever after.

She returned to her room in a much lighter mood. Everything seemed a little brighter. She had a friend who would always be with her, and there was a little more hope for the future. Misty fell asleep that night feeling secure and content, accompanied by the soft, gentle crashing of waves. It was the first time in many days the sea had been so placid.


	5. The Clashing Tides

**Chapter 4: The Clashing Tides**

Ash listened to the gently rolling waves to calm himself, but it did no good. Once again he was in the long, marble-floored hall standing eye to eye with Philip, waiting for Sir William's signal. The surroundings were the same as they had always been, the circumstances, completely ordinary. But although things seemed exactly the same, they had changed since the last time they had crossed swords. At least, for Ash they had. It amazed him how things could become so different in so short a time. Two days ago, he had not known that Philip was his brother. Then, Philip had been just an unusually grumpy rival with an unreasonable grudge against Ash. But now that Ash knew the truth, he realized that Philip's grudge was not so unreasonable after all. He realized that he had stolen the throne from Philip- the thing his brother had desired more than anything. And though there was nothing Ash could have done to prevent that, he felt guilty. He was personally responsible for Philip's misery. Worse, there was nothing he could do to correct it. Ash had spent the past two days racking his brain, trying to find some solution to this mess. But there was nothing. He could never give Philip what he wanted. This frustrated him more than anything. He didn't want the crown, would gladly have given it to Philip had he the choice. But Ash had been born to rule Kanto. He would disappoint so many people if he gave up his birthright- his father, Anna, the _whole kingdom_. He couldn't do that. But maybe there was another way to appease his brother. If only he could talk to Philip. There had to be _some_ way to make him understand.

But it was hard to believe that when he looked into Philip's eyes. They held an expression of utter disgust. Philip looked at Ash the same way he might look at a rat that had found its way into the castle kitchen. The expression reminded Ash of another time, another duel from years ago. Philip had beaten him soundly, which was not unusual. But he remembered what Sir William had told him.

"_Ashton"_ he had said, _"do you know why you're never able to win?"_

It was a rhetorical question, but Ash shook his head in reply.

"_It is because you don't want to win. You have to desire victory like Philip does, or you will never achieve it."_

And then Ash had looked over at Philip, still practicing his fencing stances. Their eyes had met, and in that instant Ash finally realized what it was in that glare that intimidated him so- hatred. Philip hated him, _wanted_ to hurt him. Those eyes had not changed in all that time. They bored into Ash's own now, daring him to challenge Philip. He could barely maintain eye contact at all. The air was so thick with tension that Ash found it hard to breathe. And when Sir William finally gave the signal, he was so distracted that he made no move at all. Philip took advantage of the moment and landed a heavy blow to Ash's right shoulder.

"Ow!" Ash cried, flinching and clutching his shoulder.

The pain of the hit echoed through his collar bone and knocked the wind out of him. He sank to the ground, gritting his teeth against the hurt, and rocked back and forth to dull it. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could feel Sir William's disapproving gaze like a weight upon him.

"Let me have a look at it." Sir William said.

Ash was finally able to open his eyes as he pulled the sleeve of his tunic down, revealing the nasty purple bruise that was forming there. Sir William knelt down beside him and roughly grasped the shoulder, testing the bone with his thumb. Ash sucked in air through his teeth as the pain surged back.

"It's not broken," Sir William informed, "but you can't hold a sword in that condition. We'll stop for today."

Then he turned to Philip, seeming genuinely angry for once.

"Philip!" he yelled. "This is the second time in as many practices that you've injured Ashton! What do you have to say?"

Philip seemed as surprised as Ash at his outburst, but he somehow maintained his attitude.

"I'm not the one you should be angry at." His reply was cool, but his eyes were smouldering like coal embers. "Unlike that _buffoon_ Ashton, I've kept up with my training. It's not my fault if he's too slow to react. After all, Sir William, have you not always told us yourself that politeness has no place in swordplay?"

"And that is true, but there is no need for such brutality, Philip! Your father is going to hear about this!"

"Good." Philip said, crossing his arms. "Maybe that will help that dull-witted old man realize which of his sons is truly fit to be his heir."

At this, Sir William completely lost his temper and struck Philip hard across the face.

"_How dare you _speak of your king that way!" He bellowed. "You will _never_ say such a thing again! Now get out of my sight!"

For an instant, Philip lost his perfect composure, a dazed look flashing across his face. But in one more instant, his brow creased and the corners of his mouth turned down into a wicked frown. Too proud to rub his stinging cheek, he glared fiercely at Sir William. And suddenly, Ash had a vague notion that this had happened before, a long time ago. Only it seemed it had been someone else then, not Philip . . .

But before he could dredge up the memory, Philip turned his red hot glare on him and stamped briskly in his direction. Ash cringed, expecting Philip to strike him, but he did not. He simply brushed past him and out the arched doorway, though in a terrible huff. Ash looked after him for several moments before the sudden quiet in the room became uncomfortable.

"Um . . ." he said, trying to think of something to say to lessen the tension.

Sir William sighed deeply, almost ruefully, Ash thought, and then glided out of the room himself. Ash was left standing alone, unsure of what to do. Finally he decided that as no one present to judge his etiquette, it didn't really matter, so he left too, still a little confused by what had just happened. He would _never_ have expected Sir William to strike Philip like that. Philip was his star pupil, and though he often had to discipline him, it was always a half-hearted rebuke. But not this time. This time Sir William had truly been angry. But then, Philip had never gone that far before. Sir William was a knight after all, unfailingly loyal. Of course he would never let anyone who insulted his king go unpunished. Not even his own star pupil.

But there was something else puzzling Ash. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Philip was becoming even more aggressive than usual lately. Why was that? Things had recently changed for Ash, yes, but Philip knew nothing about that. Or did he? And if he did, why would it make him angry? The thought nagged Ash and distracted him during class.

Today he was playing chess against Misty. He was no good at it, of course, just like everything else that involved school. This was bad, because a chess match was always part of the program when King Ashton checked on his son's progress. Fortunately the cunning Mordecai had come up with an ingenious system. Ash and Philip would play, and when Ash lost (as he always did), Philip would teach him how he had been beaten, move for move. Then, when King Ashton's visit arrived, Ash and Philip would play the same game, but with their roles reversed. Ash could tell that it infuriated Philip to have to play the loser, but he acquiesced. He seemed smart enough to know that it was better to give his father what he wanted than to try to show off. And though it was only for show, Philip's detailed walkthroughs had helped Ash improve. But Philip was conspicuously absent today. Ash thought it was useless to play Misty; she was never his opponent when his father came. But Mordecai said that it would be good practice.

Ash stared at the board. Misty was winning; she had all but cornered his king. Ash thought carefully about his next move, turning over all his options in his mind. There was no way he could beat Philip at either physical or mental tasks . . . Besides, he wanted to befriend his brother, not worsen the grudge. So he would have to reason with him. But how would he do that? What would he say? The most important thing to make Philip understand, Ash thought, was that he didn't _want_ to be king. He hadn't _willingly_ stolen the throne. If he could only make Philip see that he didn't want to be enemies. It sounded easy. But Ash knew that Philip's intense hatred wouldn't be easily quenched. He would have to choose his words carefully. If he said this to Philip, how would he reply? Or what if he said that? How would the conversation play out? Ash furrowed his brow in deep concentration.

"Hmmm . . ." he hemmed.

Misty sighed impatiently.

"Ash, would you make your move already?" She said. "You're going to lose, no matter what you do."

"Huh?" he replied.

"Make your moveཀ"

"Oh, right." Ash said.

He quickly moved his pawn to a space near Misty's knight.

She stared curiously at him.

"What?"

"You spent all that time thinking just do _that_?"

Ash laughed, but nervously.

"I guess I'm just not as smart as you, Misty!" he said, a little too cheerfully to be believed.

"Well I know_ that_." Misty agreed with a laugh. Her expression softened. "But are you sure you're all right?"

Ash was silent. Normally, he didn't mind telling Misty his problems so much. He was always reluctant to talk at first, but she usually wheedled it out of him eventually. And he had to admit, he usually felt better afterward. But this was different. This was between Philip and him. Misty seemed to understand his mood. Her brow was still creased in a worried frown, but she wasn't going to press him any further. Ash thanked her mentally.

Misty returned her focus to the game. She picked up her pawn and set it next to Ash's king, completing a ring of black pieces that surrounded it.

"Check mate."

Dusk was falling. The torches set into the halls had already been lit, and they cast dark shadows. Ash watched them dance across the red carpet while he waited for Philip. He had been standing there for at least an hour. Philip had disappeared earlier after their sword match, and Ash hadn't seen him since. He half hoped that he wouldn't appear at all. His brother intimidated him, and he was nervous about talking to him. Even now, his heart pounded in his chest. But Ash didn't want things to continue this way. It hurt to have his brother hate him so. It wasn't right. And he didn't think he could take the anxiety of waiting much longer. The sooner the conflict was resolved the better. And so he stood in the hall, a little ways away from Philip's room. Surely he would return soon. It was growing darker, and it would be time for bed before long. Ash sat down, tired of standing. The anticipation was wearing off, and he was getting bored. He must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up to footsteps coming down the hall. He turned his head toward the sound. The torches were burning low now, but he could just make out a shadowy silhouette.

"Philip?" he called to it.

"Ashton?" it _was_ Philip. "Taken to sleeping on the floor like a dog, have you? How appropriate."

Ash chose to ignore that statement.

"Philip, I need to talk to you." he said as he stood.

Philip didn't answer, but he made no move to unlock his door. Ash took this to mean that he was listening. But he couldn't think of how to start. Finally, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Philip, we're brothers."

"Really? And how did you come to this fascinating conclusion?"

"Anna told me." Ash knew that Philip's reply had been sarcastic, but he held his irritation in check and answered sincerely. "I didn't know until recently. No one told me before then."

Philip gave up his feigned curiosity and his face hardened back into that perpetual scowl.

"Let me tell you something right now, Ashton." his words came out sharp and deliberate. "You _are_ my brother by blood, and unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to change that. But I will _never_ consider you family. To me you are nothing but a thief who stole my birthright. I want nothing to do with you, so stay out of my way!"

He turned swiftly to unlock his door.

"Wait, that's what I wanted to talk to you about!" Ash cried out, running toward him. He snatched the key out of Philip's hand. Philip glowered at him and Ash backed away, but he kept talking. 'I know you hate me, but-"

"You know _nothing_! I was supposed to be king! I _deserve_ to be king!" Philip loomed over Ash, backing him into a corner. "But _you_ took that away from me."

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you, I don't _want_ to be king! I don't want you to hate me anymore! I'm not your enemy, Philip!"Ash was getting frustrated, and there was an agitated edge to his voice.

"You may not be _my_ enemy, but I will always be yours," Philip responded cooly.

"But _why_? I would be happy for you to be king! It doesn't even matter to me!"

"Which makes me hate you that much more. Do you know how it feels to have to watch you bumble your way through every single day, knowing that _you_ will be king instead of _me_? You, who aren't worthy to lick the dirt from my boot, will one day sit on _my_ throne. Your very existence makes me sick!"

Ash felt a surge of renewed guilt. His brother was right- Philip was much more fit to be king than _he_ was. But it also made him angry that Philip was so impossible.

"But it's not my fault that things happened the way they did!" He cried. "I can't do anything about it! You're being unfair!"

"Don't you _dare _complain to _me_ what's _unfair_!" Philip yelled back. "My entire life has been _unfair_! You took everything I wanted, but when one small thing doesn't go your way-"

"But I told you Philip, I don't want the same things you do!" Ash countered. "I'm not any happier about the situation than you!"

Philip sneered at him.

"Oh, poor little prince, your life must be _so_ hard."

"I'm serious!"

Philip laughed bitterly.

"Well, in any case, it doesn't matter," he said,"I hate you all the same."

Ash could see that he was getting nowhere trying to reason with Philip. He decided to try a different approach.

"Fine," he said, holding back anger and frustration. "But isn't there some way I can make it up to you?"

"Yes, you can die!" Philip paused for a moment. "Or better yet, you can suffer. I should take away something precious to you, just like you did to me. What about that girl you're always with?"

"Misty?"

"Yes, her. Would you be terribly miserable if you didn't have her?"

Only now did Ash get mad.

"Leave her out of this, Philip!" he shouted.

Philip smirked.

"Ah, so she _is_ important to you. But don't worry, little brother, I promise I won't _hurt_ her."

"I mean it, Philip! Don't you touch her!"

"I won't! I gave you my word, didn't I?"

Ash thought about this for a second. He had never known Philip to break his word. But then, he had never known Philip to _give_ his word. He was about to say something, but Philip grabbed his key back and had the door unlocked before Ash could form the words.

"I hope you sleep well, Ashton." Philip said as they parted.

Of course, Ash did _not_ sleep well. In fact, he didn't sleep at all. For hours, he laid on his back and stared at the canopy over his bed. He was upset that Philip still hated him, but more than that he was worried about Misty. He wasn't entirely trustful that Philip would keep his promise. What if he sneaked down to her room in the night and . . . Finally Ash couldn't stand it anymore. He got out of bed and went to the oaken chest at its foot. It was filled with ceremonial clothes, but he pushed these aside until he reached the chest's bottom and found what he wanted- a dagger. Ash held it above his head, letting the rubies in its hilt sparkle in the moonlight. It had been given to him by his father on his last birthday, but he'd never thought he would need it. Now, he was glad he had it. He slipped the dagger into the pocket of his night shift and sneaked downstairs. Everything looked different in the dark. The unnatural quiet made Ash a little edgy, but the suspense was somehow exciting. His senses were heightened, and he could really feel his blood pumping. Finally he reached Misty's room. She was sleeping peacefully, totally unaware of the danger she was in. Ash gazed at her as she breathed. He fondly remembered all the stormy nights they had spent here together as children, both cowering in fear of the thunder.

"_Don't worry, Misty," _he whispered to her, _"I promise I won't let Philip hurt you."_

"Ash . . ." she said.

Ash froze. He was caught; now he was in for it.

". . . you're an idiot."

He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that she was talking in her sleep.

He sat down beside her bed, dagger in hand, and waited. He was a little afraid, and he still did not want to hurt his brother, but . . . he was almost hoping that Philip _would_ show up. He felt very manly protecting Misty like this. _This_ was what being a prince was all about. His heart pounded in anxious anticipation. Ash chuckled to himself as he imagined Philip on his hands and knees at the point of his dagger, begging for his life. And Misty, of course, would be eternally grateful when she found out what he had done for her.

But as the hours passed, the excitement dulled. It was becoming more and more unlikely that anything would happen, and Ash was growing sleepy. His eyelids started to feel heavy. He kept them open for as long as he could, but it was a losing battle. The rhythm of the sea filled his ears, and soon his dreams.


	6. The Distant Thunder

**Chapter 5: The Distant Thunder**

Misty was gently woken by the warm sunlight and the quiet whisper of the waves. Everything was so peaceful, she didn't want to get up yet. She pulled the soft covers up to her chin and closed her eyes again- then opened them again when she realized that there was another sound besides the sea. The sound was so rhythmic that she hadn't noticed it before- someone was softly snoring. Misty bolted up in a panic only to find Ash leaning against her bed, fast asleep and still completely dressed. He looked terribly uncomfortable. His knees were bent up to his chest, and his head was lying on the edge of her bed, his neck at a painful angle. Misty grabbed her pillow and smacked him hard in the face. Ash awoke with a start.

"Huh?!" he gasped.

"Ash! What are you doing in my room!" Misty demanded.

Ash gazed at her sleepily as if he weren't quite sure himself.

"Misty?"

"That's me. Now answer my question- what are you doing in my room?"

Ash seemed to become a little more lucid now.

"It's not what you think!" he explained quickly, holding up his hands to divert another hit.

"Then what exactly is it?"

Misty didn't hit him, but she kept her pillow raised in case his answer wasn't satisfactory.

"I thought . . ." Ash stammered.

He seemed unsure of how to explain his presence, but Misty was growing impatient.

"You thought what?"

"I thought you might be in trouble."

There was a silence as Misty waited for him to finish his explanation, but he said nothing else.

"Why would I be in trouble?" she asked suspiciously.

Ash looked relieved when she lowered her pillow.

"Well, I talked to Philip last night-"

"You talked to Philip?"

"Will you let me finish? You're the one who wants to hear this."

"Sorry." Misty said. "I was just surprised."

Ash began again. "I talked to Philip last night, and he said something weird."

"Weird? Weird how?"

"He said that he was going to . . . do . . . something . . . to you."

"Well _that's_ specific." Misty complained, annoyed.

"Sorry, but he didn't say what he was going to do. He only said that he wouldn't _hurt_ you. But I don't trust him." Ash scowled.

Misty was a little confused.

"Philip threatened _me_? Why?"

Ash blushed for reasons Misty couldn't guess and stared at the floor.

"Because you're . . ."

She was quickly getting tired with his avoidance.

"I'm what?"

"You're _my_ _friend_."

"Oh."

That made sense. Philip bore a grudge against Ash, and while he couldn't hurt the prince directly without severe consequences, he could hurt one of his lower classed friends.

"What else did he say?"

But Ash didn't answer, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. Misty sighed inwardly. He _still_ wouldn't talk about Philip. She'd never had this problem before. Usually she could get Ash to talk with some encouragement. But he took this matter with Philip _very_ personally. Misty could understand a little. It was a disagreement between brothers and none of her business. She was close to Ash, but she knew when to give him some space. But she hated to see him suffer alone. Misty wished he would open up to her.

I just-" Ash started, "I just don't want you to get hurt because of me."

Really, Misty was happy that Ash had worried about her. But she wasn't about to let him know that.

"Well you can stop worrying, because I'm not afraid of Philip. Now get out of my room!" She punctuated her sentence by throwing her pillow at him, then laughed to herself as he scrambled out of the room. When he was gone, she got up and started getting dressed. She pulled a pale yellow dress out of her trunk and over her head. Then she laced up her brown boots, brushed her hair, and washed her face in her wooden basin. Misty started to head out of her room, but before she could take two steps she bumped right into Ash. They both yelped and jumped back.

"Ash! What are you doing here? I told you to leave!"

"You only said to get out of your room, you never said anything about leaving."

Misty rolled her eyes.

"Well I'm telling you now, leave! I have things to do."

Which was not really true, but as there was no school today, she had been looking forward to spending the day reading and writing. But Ash apparently had no intention of leaving.

"No. I'm staying with you until I'm sure Philip isn't going to hurt you." he insisted.

"Ash, I told you, I'm not afraid of Philip."

She was a little insulted. She could take care of herself; she always had. She didn't need _Ash_ to protect her.

"I don't care!" Ash argued. "If Philip hurts you, it'll be my fault, and I'm not going to let that happen!"

"So then you're just going to follow me everywhere?"

"Yes."

"Until _you_ think I'm safe."

Ash stared at her with eyes full of resolution. Misty groaned. She enjoyed Ash's company most of the time, but she was a little of a private person, and she valued her time alone. She didn't want him tagging after everywhere. But there was no shaking him when he determined to do something. So she was stuck with him. Indefinitely.

"Fine," Misty acquiesced, "just try not to bother me. I'm going to the library, so you'll have to be quiet."

"The _library_?" Ash complained. "Wouldn't you rather-"

But Misty cut him off with a deadly glare.

Once at the library, Misty found a seat in the warm sunlight, and Ash sat across from her. Then she opened the book she had been reading most recently and started in. Her concentration, however, was soon disturbed by an incessant tap-tap-tapping on the table. It was Ash, of course, drumming his fingers in boredom. Misty stared at him with as irritated a look she could muster, but Ash seemed oblivious. The drumming continued for several more minutes, Misty becoming more vexed with each beat. Finally, she snapped.

"Ash! Must you do that?!"

"Huh?" came Ash's reply. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize I was doing it."

"Fine, just don't do it anymore. Why don't you get something to read too?"

Misty could tell from his expression that Ash was not too excited about this idea, but he complied to mollify her. He grabbed the first book he came to off the shelf and brought it with him to the table.

Misty returned to her book, but, having been distracted once, it was hard to focus. Especially since Ash was turning his pages much too quickly (and loudly), probably looking for the pictures. Misty coughed deliberately.

"What now?" Ash sighed, his tone hinting annoyance.

"Stop rattling your pages!"

"_Rattling _my _pages?"_

She blushed. It sounded absurd, even to her, but it still bothered her. Ash put his book down, but he didn't look very disappointed. He made a show of sitting strait and perfectly still in his chair, obviously mocking Misty, but she ignored him and went back to her book. But soon, she was grinding her teeth as if in pain. She snapped her book shut with a bang.

"Oh, am I breathing too loudly for you now?" Ash asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes!" Misty exclaimed.

This was ridiculous. She was never going to get any reading done with Ash sitting there. She needed absolute quiet and solitude. Suddenly, she had an idea.

"I know, I'll read aloud to you." she suggested. "That way, I won't be distracted, and you won't be bored."

"I won't?"

"Just listen, would you?"

She began from a passage right in the middle of the book. Ash paid good attention for about ten minutes. But then Misty noticed his eyelids beginning to droop. In another five minutes, his head was laid on the table and he was sound asleep. Misty smiled at her own cleverness.

"Sleep tight, Ash." she whispered as she tip-toed from the library.

She quietly made her way back to her room. It wasn't as comfortable as the library, but it would do in a pinch. She sat cross legged on the floor, took out her book, and found her place. As many books as she had read, this one had quickly become one of her favorites. It was a book of myths and legends from all over the world. Myths had always been Misty's favorite part of her history lessons, so she had been delighted when she had found it, quite by accident, hidden in an old, unused corner of the library. She already loved all the old stories of Kanto, but she had read them so much that she had memorized them all. It was wonderful and refreshing to discover some new ones. And in the ancient tales, Misty discovered the cultures of foreign lands. Indeed, she thought that they were quickest way to learn the true heart of a people- their beliefs, their values, their practices. She envied the book's author, who had had the opportunity to visit so many strange and beautiful places.

Maybe _that's_ what she would do when she was older. She would leave the castle, board a ship, and never look back. Life at the castle wasn't so bad, but she wanted to explore the world she'd read about in books. Who knew, maybe she would even find her homeland. It wasn't very likely, but it wasn't impossible either. Misty set her book down and daydreamed about how she would escape. Really, escape was probably too drastic a word. Most likely, the present king would gladly let her go. But it made the prospect seem so much more exciting. Misty wondered what kind of work she would get when she left. Waitress? Maid? There really weren't many choices for a woman. And the world was a dangerous place, or so she had been told. Still, Misty was willing to take the risk. It was better than a life of boredom here at the castle. But there was still one thing that bothered her. If she left the castle, she really would be completely alone. She wasn't sure if she could bear that. But there was really no use worrying about it. It was probably only an idle dream anyway . . .

Just then, her thoughts were disturbed once again when she heard someone's footsteps coming down the hall. They were coming toward her room.

"_Ash."_ Misty thought as she rolled her eyes.

"Ash, I told to-" she started as the footsteps neared her door.

But it wasn't Ash at all. It was Philip who rounded the corner, looking casual and relaxed. He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.

"Ah, Misty! Just the person I was looking for!"

Misty eyed him warily, wondering if she shouldn't have stayed with Ash after all.

"What do you want, Philip?" she asked.

"Just to talk to you." Philip replied, looking rather insulted.

"Right." Misty replied. "Philip, you've never spoken one word to me before now."

Philip approached her now and bent down to look her in the face.

"Yes, and that's a shame. It's high time we had a friendly chat. Wouldn't you agree?" he didn't give her time to answer. "What's that you're reading?" he asked as he snatched the book away from her.

"Hey, give that back!" Misty demanded.

She was a little embarrassed of her obsession with books, and Philip was the last person she wanted to share it with.

"_Myths and Legends of the World,"_ he read from the cover. "Ah, yes, you're always reading fairy stories like this, aren't you?"

"You're very observant." Misty hissed, though she had to admit that she _was_ surprised he had noticed. He ignored her comment and continued his thought.

"It's too bad your own fairy tale was ruined for you."

Misty frowned, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you." Philip responded casually, handing the book back to her. He started out the door, but Misty made no move to follow him. He stopped and turned.

"Not coming?" he asked innocently. "Of course, you don't have to. I understand if you're afraid of me."

"I'm not!" Misty spat.

She spoke more confidently than she felt, but her pride wouldn't let her show her fear.

"No, no, I understand. You have no reason to trust me. I'll leave you alone."

Now, Misty knew perfectly well that he was only trying to bait her, but pride and curiosity won over common sense.

"Wait!" she cried. "I'll come."

"Good," he said, letting her catch up to him.

Misty followed him through the long hallway. But she was wary of her companion, and tried to imagine what she would do if he turned on her. Back in her room, she had felt so confident that she could outsmart him if the need arose. But as Philip lead her up a dark, deserted stairway, she was beginning to think that her self-sure attitude had been foolish. Philip could easily overpower her if he wanted. Would anyone even hear her if she screamed? Still, though her fear grew with each step, Misty pressed on. Her pride had abandoned her, but her curiosity had not. She was dying to know what Philip had meant. What "fairy tale" was he talking about? What did he know that she didn't? Or was it all a ruse to get her to come with him? But Misty couldn't go back now. She _needed_ to know the truth. She trembled, her heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked at last, trying without success to keep her voice steady.

But Philip acted as though he hadn't heard her question at all. He didn't pause a single beat. Misty swallowed hard. That was _not_ a good sign. But just as her fear reached its height, the twisting stairway ended at a small landing. She blinked as the darkness gave way to dazzling sunlight. Philip waited patiently while her eyes adjusted. But even through squinted eyes, Misty could see the grandeur of this hall. It was wide and long, and the ceiling soared above her head. The floor beneath her feet was covered in a plush red carpet. One wall was full of tall, intricately designed windows that overlooked the sea, and the other was made of a beautiful, glittering white stone. Misty stood, awestruck, almost forgetting why she was here. She couldn't believe that she had lived in the castle her entire life without seeing this place.

"Welcome to the royal hall," Philip said with a bow and a laugh.

"It's beautiful . . ." Misty choked out.

"Yes, I suppose it is." he replied. "Now, follow me, we're almost there."

She suddenly remembered her purpose and hurried after Philip. They walked the length of the hall before coming to an oaken door engraved with the sun, the moon, and the stars. Philip stopped here and opened the door. Misty peered inside, bursting with curiosity. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary. The room was more exquisite than most, true. Its walls were of the same glittering white stone as the hall, and the floor was covered with a dark green rug. There was an ornately carved vanity with a against one wall, and near it a matching bureau. It had a tall bed with white covers and canopy. The canopy fluttered slightly in a sea breeze that came from a small, open window.

But it was strange- Misty knew that she couldn't have possibly been in this room before, yet it seemed somehow familiar, like something remembered from a dream.

"Wh-where are we?" she stammered.

"You don't remember?" Philip replied mockingly.

Misty's breath caught in her throat. What was he getting at? But before she could ask he left her side and knelt over a chest that sat at the foot of the bed. He pulled something from it, though Misty couldn't see what. Philip motioned for her to come closer.

"What is it?" she asked.

Philip held up the object in answer. But whatever Misty had expected, it wasn't this- a tiny pink dress covered in lace and bows. A doll's dress. Philip handed her the garment, and she fingered the frills carefully.

"I don't understand," she said, "what is this?"

"It's a dress." Philip said bluntly.

"Well I can see _that_, but what does it mean? Whose is it?"

"It's yours," Philip replied, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Misty laughed at the absurdity.

"Somehow I don't think it would fit me very well."

"Well, not _anymore_, of course. But you used to wear it, when you were little."

Misty stared blankly at him.

"You really _have_ forgotten, haven't you? You don't even remember _her_?"

"Who?!" she all but shouted.

Philip's little game was driving her mad. She wished he would stop toying with her and just tell her what she wanted to know.

"The late Lady Catherine, of course. The woman who adopted you, brought you into this castle. Of course, you were very young at the time, I don't blame you for forgetting."

Now Misty was incensed. How dare he imply that she had forgotten her own mother!

"I have _not_ forgotten!" she yelled, throwing the dress aside. "I just don't understand what all of this has to do with my mother! Why are you showing me all . . . this . . ."

Misty quickly glanced around the room again, a sudden realization coming to her.

"This was her room, wasn't it?"

"Ah, so you _do_ remember!" Philip said happily. "That woman did so much for you- taking you in, having such nice clothes made for you- she really did treat you just like a little princess."

Misty froze. Her mother had raised her like a _princess_? Her early memories were hazy; she could barely see Catherine's face. She remembered nothing of her life among royalty

"Who knows where you might be now, if she had lived." Philip was continuing. "I do believe she would have married you off to some prince. Just think, you could have lived in splendor like me. It's so _tragic_ that she died when she did. Would you like me to tell you how that happened? It may give you some insight."

And finally Misty saw the point of Philip's plan.

"Ash . . ." she murmured.

"Oh, so you already know, then." Philip said, seeming genuinely surprised. "That's right. She died when Ashton was born. He took something important from both of us- my throne and your mother. We have a lot in common, you know. We ought to-"

"No!" Misty shouted, coming closer to Philip. "I have nothing in common with a bully like you! It wasn't Ash's fault! He would never hurt anyone on purpose! Besides, he's your brother and he loves you! How can you still hate him so much?"

"I hate him simply for being born." Philip said cheerfully.

"That's sick!" Misty yelled. "You're a horrible person, Philip! You don't deserve to be Ash's brother!"

Philip chuckled.

"Maybe. But you'd better careful what you say about me." he advised. "Like I said, we're really the same. I hate Ash, and so do you. The only difference is that I don't mind admitting it."

"That's not true!" Misty yelled.

"But of course it is! You know, I'd say you're even worse than me. At least _I'm_ honest. But _you_ pretend to be a saint- such a liar. I think it would be _right_ for you to come clean."

"No, I'm different from you! I'm different . . ." Misty trailed off as her voice broke.

Philip sighed as he saw the first tears come streaming down her cheeks. When she was finally able to look up at him, she saw pity in his eyes- strange to observe in the stoic Philip. There was a silence that lasted several minutes.

"I can see I'm getting nowhere." he said at last, looking away from her as she sobbed. "That's fine. You're just not ready to accept it yet. But think about what I've said. You might change your mind."

Misty stared at him blankly.

"You know," Philip said, "I can see why my brother is so fond of you. You're quite pretty."

"You're just saying that to butter me up!" she choked out.

"Yes," Philip agreed, "But that doesn't mean it's not true."

For several minutes there was no sound but Misty's choking sobs.

"Stay as long as you like." Philip said finally. " No one comes here except for father, and then only at night. Take the old stairway we used on the way up when you leave, otherwise someone might see you." he paused. "But when you _do_ change your mind . . . well, you know where to find me."

And then he was gone.

Misty found that all her strength had left her. Her legs suddenly felt wobbly and her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, still crying. She picked the little dress up from the floor and clutched it tight against her heart, mourning the loss of something she'd never known she'd had until now. Had her mother lived, her life would have been so different. She would have lived the life of a princess, complete with balls and jewels, and handsome young princes to woo her. The life she could only dream about might have been hers. But Misty knew better than this. There was no use wishing for what could not be; the past couldn't be undone. Yet the knowledge summoned a thought, one which Misty could no longer fight.

"_If only Ash had never been born . . ."_

How many times had she battled these words? As much as she cared for Ash, sometimes she couldn't keep her resentment from resurfacing. It slept inside her, just waiting for its chance to show itself. But how had Philip known of the ugly thing she kept buried in her heart? Perhaps it was as he said, and they were more alike than she wanted to admit.

Misty sat alone in that room for a long time. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't even notice day turn to nigh. But when she heard footsteps in the hall, she immediately snapped to attention. Was it King Ashton? Misty shuddered to think how he would react if he found her here, an intruder in the shrine of his beloved wife. She held her breath as she frantically searched the room for a place to hide. But then she saw a small light in the hall, and realized with a sigh that it was only the servants lighting the torches for the night. Still, Misty took this as a sign that she should leave, and be quick about it at that. She wiped her tears, folded the little dress, and put it back in its trunk. But as she did so, she had a thought. Why shouldn't she take something, a memento of her mother? King Ashton would never notice anything amiss, and even if he did, he would never guess that _Misty_, whose existence he barely noticed, had taken it. So after replacing the dress, Misty turned to the vanity and opened the drawer closest to her hand. In it were all manner of jewels and perfumes, but none of these appealed to her. It wasn't until she reached the bottom of the drawer that she found something that spoke to her- a small hand mirror. Misty quickly closed the drawer and gave one last look around the room, making sure nothing was out of place. Then, her treasure safely concealed in her pocket, she sneaked out of Catherine's room and back to her own.

* * *

Later, sitting on her bed, Misty studied her mother's mirror by lantern light. It was made of pewter and had a design engraved on the back. It was simple, but in its simplicity was its beauty- a little like the face she remembered, she thought. Misty gazed at the face now reflected in the mirror- her face. Philip had called her pretty. _Quite_ pretty, she thought with a smile. But even a pretty face could hide terrible ugliness. She laid the mirror under her pillow, not wishing to look at herself any longer. It was a good thing that she hid it when she did, for at that very moment, Ash came rushing into her room, huffing and puffing.

"There you are!" he cried breathlessly. "I'm so glad! I was sure that Philip had you!"

"No, I just couldn't stand your _snoring_ anymore." Misty replied with more bitterness than she had intended.

Ash was the last person she wanted to see right now. Her heart was in such a turmoil over what she had learned. A weed was threatening to choke out the friendship that had blossomed between them, and Misty needed time away from him until one side had won. Her irritation at his presence was only making her more confused.

"Um, sorry I fell asleep like that . . ." Ash was saying, "But you shouldn't have left! Philip could've done anything he wanted to you!"

Misty could tell he was a little angry, but she didn't care. She was getting angry too. Hadn't she told him that she could take care of herself? It didn't matter that she might have been wrong. Her pride was hurt all the same.

"Ash, I _told_ you, I don't need you to protect me!"

"And_ I_ told _you_ that you do!"

Both their voices were getting louder. Misty crossed her arms defensively and threw her head back.

"Tsk, what do _you_ know about it? I'm tougher than you think, Ash."

"I don't care, Philip is _my_ brother, so _I'm_ responsible for what happens!" he paused to regain his composure. "Where were you, anyway?"

"Um," Misty faltered. She couldn't tell Ash what had transpired between her and Philip that afternoon. It was better that he didn't know Philip had spoken to her at all.

"I was right here reading." was the lie she gave.

Ash arched his eyebrow.

"No, you weren't," he said, "I checked here several times."

"Then you must not have seen me, because I _was_ here."

Misty realized that it was a silly comeback, but it was all she could think of in the few seconds she was given.

"That's-"

"Ash, if I said I was here, then I was here! So stop _pestering_ me!"

Ash seemed surprised by the force of her anger, as was she. He backed up, his eyes wide.

"All right, sorry, Misty!" he said defensively.

Misty suddenly felt guilty. She was letting Philip get the best of her. She couldn't let that happen, she had to fight it back. That's right, she would fight it back, just like she had always done before. This time would be no different. So what if the resentment was a little stronger this time? She could handle it. Misty cradled her head in her hand.

"No, I'm sorry, Ash." she said. "I shouldn't have left without at least telling you where I was going. I'm just . . . tired. I think I need some time alone."

Ash sighed softly, relaxing.

"All right. I'll leave you alone for a while. Tonight I'll sleep outside your door."

Misty groaned to herself. Ash _really_ didn't understand. But she supposed it was better than having him sleep right next to her. She felt a little uncomfortable changing into her night clothes with him sitting right outside her door like that, but she did so and blew out her lantern. But she couldn't sleep for the thoughts churning in her head. Was she really a liar like Philip said? Did she really hate Ash? That couldn't be. Just because she held some old resentment against him didn't mean she _hated_ him. He was her friend, she cared about him. Or was that only a lie she told to make herself feel better? And was being a liar really so bad? Surely it was better to be false and spare someone's feelings than to be honest and cruel. She couldn't really be as bad as Philip . . . could she? When Misty finally _did_ fall asleep, she tossed inside restless, confusing dreams. Outside, the surface of the sea was calm. But the cold waters that laid beneath stirred restlessly, waiting for the storm that was surely approaching.


End file.
